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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23720617">The Accidental Cat Acquisition of 1174</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binario/pseuds/Binario'>Binario</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Attempt at Humor, Cats of the Monastery, Class of 1174, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Gratuitous mention of main game characters, It'll make sense eventually, Main Game Plot Points Mentioned Vaguely, Mentioned Miklan (Fire Emblem), Platonic Relationships, Prequel, Rated T for swearing, Spoilers for Pre-Timeskip Lore, Spoilers for Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), The Golden Deer - Freeform, for now, no beta we die like Glenn, of sorts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:16:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,512</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23720617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binario/pseuds/Binario</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Balthus has made some pretty bad life choices. Granted, he's not the pinnacle of rightousness, but at least he'll own up to his mistakes.</p><p>But the cats. The cats were 100% Holst's fault.</p><p> </p><p>Or, is there a more explosive combination than Holst and Balthus in the same classroom?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Harpstring Moon (I)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A night out brings unexpected surprises. And not in a sexy way.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Lovingly nicknamed "What even is this, fe3h edition"</p><p>This fever dream of a fic is something I'm trying to take as lightly as possible. I have seriously never had such an intense urge to write anything in my whole life.</p><p>Enjoy my tiny contribution to the fandom.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If anyone were to ask, Balthus would not hesitate to pin all the blame on Holst. All of the problems of his entire student life have always originated from that pink-haired devil. He knows that bastard’s a brilliant man, hell, he’s told him multiple times, but Holst’s also prone to random lapses of idiocy. He gets downright <em>jittery</em> if he has not riled up his whole damn house at least once a week. It’s like it physically pains him not to bother the shit out of everyone around him. Balthus’ black mark on his student records exists largely due to Holst and his antics. He would say it bothers him (and he does that plenty of times when Holst is in earshot. Loudly. Slapping a table for added drama) but…well…</p><p> </p><p>It’s not that he’s not concerned about his reputation (he’s not. But he’s technically a <em>noble</em> and he has to think how it would reflect on his <em>mom</em> if that Gautier fucker just happened to let slip how much of a wild, uncivilized thing the whole monastery is convinced he is and, really, she <em>does not</em> deserve more worries than what she is dealing with right now. Balthus would never do that to her). Normally (if he were, say, literally anywhere else than freaking Garreg Mach), Balthus would be the first in line to stir some shit up. He loves a good fight, thrives from being an agent of chaos or whatever Goneril had described it as. But here, where everyone and their mothers are looking for weaknesses behind porcelain smiles…yeah, he really hates nobility most of the time. </p><p> </p><p>It’s just that it is too damn hard saying no to Holst Goneril. Balthus had tried, somewhat. He used to put up a tougher fight, back when they were just acquaintances. But him and Goneril had clicked immediately (like a wyvern to the sky or a fish to water or whatever other poetic bullshit Professor Manuela liked to spiel about in her lessons), and it all went downhill from there. Now, it only took one “But we’re <em>bros</em>, Baltie” and Balthus just gives in. It’s too much of a hassle to try and dissuade Holst from whatever hell he wanted to rise that week, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>This way of thinking, however, usually lands him in situations that get ridiculously out of control. Like the last weeks of the Blue Sea Moon of 1174.</p><p> </p><p>This is how it goes.</p><p> </p><p>Balthazar “Balthus” von Albrecht would say that he’s a model student.</p><p> </p><p>Well, no, to be honest, he wouldn’t really say that, but he would <em>heavily</em> imply it. Especially in front of his professors. Or Seteth, but he’s fairly sure that the glorified secretary is on to him. But, then again, Seteth always gives the stink eye to any student that so much as <em>breathes</em> his way. What kind of mortal sin did Seteth commit to have the Archbishop summon him to oversee a damn <em>academy</em> when the man so obviously hates children? Did he kick puppies? Stole from the poor? Did he have a forbidden love affair like in those novels Manuela forgets around the monastery?</p><p> </p><p>Wait, he’s getting sidetracked.</p><p> </p><p>Okay, so Balthus is not completely honest with his professors. Sue him, he’s sure other people have done worse. He’s just not, say, the brightest in his house. The Golden Deer have some pretty brilliant people, but he just doesn’t figure in that select group. He’s not jealous or mad about it, it’s just is what it is. He’s the King of Grappling, not a tactician or a mage. He’s, in his humble opinion, a pretty charismatic individual. He’s also a really simple man: he likes fun, he likes female company, he likes a good fight and a good, strong ale to finish it off. He’s not supposed to be drinking (Seteth might be a secretary but by the Goddess, he can smell rule-breaking like a damn bloodhound), but he’s <em>20</em>, what the fuck.</p><p> </p><p>No, no, there he goes again.</p><p> </p><p>Rewinding, Balthus might be a tiny bit of a liar to the professors. But it’s not his fault that the words start to blur if an assignment goes on and on about Fódlani history or the philosophical principles behind the establishment of the ritual of whatshisname. So, like anyone would, he turns to his closest pal for help. He’s not taking advantage of Holst, he’s not a monster. He actually pays him to, uhh, polish up his writing (read: write the whole thing for him). They did agree upon a price and all when Balthus had first asked for his help. Balthus did try to pay him, honestly, but he’s just…not great with finances. In time, they just sort of moved on from gold payments. Now, Holst just asks for his help or whines about broken axes or the deplorable state of the Golden Deer’s funds and Balthus finds a way to help his pal. Sure, most of the equipment he gets for the house comes from his gambling and it’s true that he’s losing more games than he’s winning but hey, he’s doing his best! He doesn’t even think this qualifies as paying Holst or Holst using him or whatever. They are best bros and this is just how their friendship goes.</p><p> </p><p>(It gave him one hell of a headache when <em>the incident</em> happened)</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They were in Balthus’ room pretending that they were productive students. Holst was unknowingly smearing ink all over his long sleeves while Balthus tried to make sense of <em>Introduction to Healing: An Accurate Explanation of Basic Faith Magic, </em>the monster of a tome that Professor Hanneman had pushed his way earlier. Faith magic looked pretty sick and all but Balthus was born to punch things, not stitch people up. Besides, the book was truly <em>massive</em>. It weighed more than his steel gauntlets, for crying out loud. The writing, too, was a nightmare: pompous at best and filled with all the unnecessary descriptions of someone who is keen to inflict upon others the torture that was inflected upon them as students. He really was considering either going to the library for a dictionary or giving up altogether and burning the damn thing.</p><p> </p><p>Anyhow.</p><p> </p><p>Holst leaned back on his chair with a sigh, throwing his arm over the back. Balthus immediately went into high alert. He knew that sigh, had heard it thousands of times in the past month alone, and it sent warning bells blaring in his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Say,” Holts picked at his ink-stained sleeves nonchalantly. The picture of absolute innocence and normalcy. “We have a day off tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus carefully closed his book. He racked his brain for that one day when Professor Manuela had rambled about the holidays of the calendar. It was Harpstring Moon, so he was pretty sure there was some sort of celebration on the 21<sup>th</sup>. He wasn't sure <em>what</em> celebration, exactly – he had been a little bit distracted by the way Antonia’s hair was done that day – but if it’s like all of the other holidays they had had so far, then there’ll be some obligatory choir recital. Shit, he hasn't practiced at all.</p><p> </p><p>Holst continued on, unaware of the unfurling existential crisis, because of course he would, the ass. “I was thinking that we haven’t really hung out around town lately. You know, having something at a tavern, maybe play some cards with the locals, find some girls to show off to.”</p><p> </p><p>Setting the tome aside for later reading, next to the dusty pile of long-forgotten books, Balthus turned to his friend with an easy grin. Ah, now that was easier to deal with. “Yeah? Sounds good to me, pal. But you do remember that there’s absolutely no way the Knights are going to let us into town anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean? We used to go to town like every week.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah well, that was kind of our fault, Holst. Don’t you remember?”</p><p> </p><p>“If I don’t remember it, it didn’t happen.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus huffed out a laugh. “Well, I <em>do</em> remember it. It was a Saturday and we got really drunk.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve gotten drunk plenty of times, Baltie, be more specific.”</p><p> </p><p>“And we came back at night all cheery and giggly and we decided that it was a good idea to dunk someone in the pond.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, wait, I think I do remember-”</p><p> </p><p>“And it was Seteth.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, don’t go on.”</p><p> </p><p>“He was completely drenched. I’m pretty sure the <em>fish</em> felt bad for him.”</p><p> </p><p>“In retrospect, that day was one string of really bad life choices.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know. And then we go the mother of all lectures.”</p><p> </p><p>Wincing slightly at the memory, Holst chuckled halfheartedly. “He was pretty pissed at us.”</p><p> </p><p>“Pissed is an understatement,” Balthus tried to hold in a crackle. He failed miserably. “He was so <em>red</em>. I swear I saw his pupils slit! Like a pissed-off cat or some shit. I thought he was going to strangle us or burn us to a crisp or something.”</p><p> </p><p>“That one was pretty amazing, yeah,” the pink-haired man grinned. He rolled up his sleeves, effectively hiding the dark stains. “Anyway, I did plan on something to get us pass the Knights.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, did you? And what is it that you’re going to do? You do know that none of our classmates are going to Warp us after the bullshit you pulled in the last drill.”</p><p> </p><p>Standing up and wincing at his sore neck, Holst packed up his quills and parchment. He threw everything in his bag without a care, readjusted his askew yellow cape, and looked smugly back at Balthus. “No magic, I promise. You’ll like this one.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hah! We’ll see.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He did, indeed, see.</p><p> </p><p>Thing was: Balthus never doubts Holst, especially when he’s got a goal in mind. His pal was amazing at conveniently getting people to help him with whatever he needs. Must be some sort of Goneril thing, a hidden Crest ability of a sorts. He knew that baby Hilda back at the Goneril state did the same thing with the staff.</p><p> </p><p>So when the sun has set and they were walking down a zigzagging path overgrown by the freaking forest that they were crossing (Balthus <em>was</em> observant, no matter what everyone else says. It was common knowledge that there existed only one path into Garreg Mach. That was what made this fortress of a monastery impervious to invasions, and thus there was no way that hidden path actually existed), Balthus tried not to show how surprised he really was. Figures that Holst Goneril would find something that has never been found.</p><p> </p><p>The bastard seems to read his mind, as always. He still looked as smug as he was in the afternoon. “Pretty great, yes? I bet that the Knights don’t expect us to know about this.”</p><p> </p><p>“Riiight, and how do <em>you</em> know of this, by instance? I doubt Lady Rhea goes around mentioning the abandoned paths of the forest to the House Leaders.”</p><p> </p><p>Holst was practically skipping down the abandoned road like some forest creature. “Oh, Christophe found it the other day.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus blinked slowly. He wanted to believe he had missheard.</p><p> </p><p>“Christophe.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yup.”</p><p> </p><p>“Christophe Gaspard.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yep.”</p><p> </p><p>“Christophe Gaspard, Blue Lion.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s him, yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Christophe “this bird’s got a broken wing, Professor Manuela please help it” Gaspard. Christophe “I volunteer in church choir because the others in my house already have too many chores for today” Gaspard. That Christophe.”</p><p> </p><p>“Geez, Baltie, how many Christophes do you know? Should I be jealous? Do you have a new best friend named Christophe that you will replace me with?”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus scoffed. “I didn’t think he had in in him.”</p><p> </p><p>Holst just shrugged, shaking off leaves from his hair. “He doesn’t. He’s got a new baby brother, though. It seems the kid’s a good influence on him.”</p><p> </p><p>The forest abruptly ended. They had been walking for maybe half an hour at the moment. In the distance, they could see the lights of the town under the darkening sky.</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” Balthus grined. Oh, he could already smell the food, hear the laughter. It would surely be worth the hangover that loomed in the future. “Tomorrow is a holiday, isn’t it? I’ll buy you a round if you get us a good table.”</p><p> </p><p>“Deal.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It was almost worth the hangover.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus had a vague recollection of what happened after the sixth or seventh round. He knew that they were gambling with a group of mercenaries at some point. Not a wise decision, but both of them were way past the stage were the word <em>responsibility</em> started to lose meaning. He might had lost miserably (or was that Holst?), but he did remember the cute ginger that had taken pity on him and tried to console him. She was really gorgeous; pity he couldn’t remember her name.</p><p> </p><p>Wait, Holst. What had happened to Holst after the card game? He did stumble back the way they went to town, but was his bro with him? Shit, he couldn’t remember.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus cried out as a raucous booming pierced his skull. He whined pitifully, sinking into his blankets to try and convince himself to go back to sleep. His head <em>hurt</em>, damnit.</p><p> </p><p>It took him what would have be an embarrassingly long time in any other moment (anytime when he wasn’t wishing for death) to notice that the blasphemous racket was actually someone pounding on his door. His sleep-addled and hungover brain cheerfully suggested to go open the door after staring dumbly from under his blankets. He somehow managed to slink out of bed.</p><p> </p><p><em>Oh Goddess, he must reek of alcohol. Should he really open that door?</em>, thought his traitorous brain just as he opened the offending door.</p><p> </p><p>It was not Seteth. There must really be a Goddess up there.</p><p> </p><p>He narrowed his eyes, not quiet understanding what he was seeing. A pink blur shoved him back and slammed the door shut. Holst looked guiltily at the door, like it somehow mattered more than Balthus, who had just been shoved back on his ass, what the hell.</p><p> </p><p>“You need to help me–” not even an apology, this bitch. What was he, a straw dummy? “–I don’t really know what to do with it!”</p><p> </p><p>But, for real, he should find better friends. Maybe someone from the Black Eagles? They were all strung up idiots but hey, maybe one of them was actually human.</p><p> </p><p>Something snapped in front of his face. Ah, fingers. Right, Holst was talking about something. “Are you listening?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>Holst glared at him in frustration. With a great sigh, like all of this wasn’t his fault, he pulled Balthus to his feet one-handed. Oh right, monstrous strength. Was that another Goneril secret ability? Should he start writing a list?</p><p> </p><p>“All right, sorry man. I shouldn’t have shoved you. I think I have a killer hangover; I can’t think straight.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I get you,” Balthus dragged a hand down his face. His skull still rang with every tiny movement he made, but it seemed to be a little bit better. Or at least, now he could think, somewhat? He decided to mark that as an achievement.</p><p> </p><p>He suddenly realized that Holst had just straight up barged into his room like a lunatic. “Sure. But tell me something: why shouldn’t I kill you right now? You must know how terrible I feel right now, what made you think I would appreciate the siege upon my door?”</p><p> </p><p>Holst paled a little bit. Was he dizzy? Oh Goddess, please not that. Balthus was considering shoving him back outside when he noticed the coat bundled up in Holst’ right arm. A coat that was <em>moving</em> and making weird little chirps.</p><p> </p><p>He felt sudden dread.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey Holst.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s moving.”</p><p> </p><p>“It sure is.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not sure what you are thinking it is but would it make you feel better if I say no?”</p><p> </p><p>“Holst Goneril, tell me that’s not a baby.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?! It’s not a- Why would you think that?!”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Oh thank Goddess</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a cat.”</p><p> </p><p>“The fuck?”</p><p> </p><p>It was probably a Gautieron, Holst explained. Why the hell Balthus would care about the particular breed of the cat, he wasn’t sure. The thing was pitch black and sort of ratty. Its fur certainly was very unkept and ugly, even the eyes looked watery and kind of sickly. It didn’t actually <em>look</em> like a cat; it resembled more of a drowned rag than a living animal.</p><p> </p><p>“How did you decide to catch, carry, and then hide this animal in your room? Run that by me again.”</p><p> </p><p>And Holst explained. He had the blessing (or curse, who knows) of actually remembering most of the night. So, after Balthus had ditched him for the ginger (“Holst, I was <em>drunk</em>” “Semantics, semantics”), Holst had flirted with one of the waitresses. His night was just about to take a turn for the better when he realized that Balthus was no longer in the tavern. So, like the good, concerned friend that he is (“She kicked you out” “She kicked me out”), he went out to brave the night in search of his best bro. He had wandered the streets for a bit, hoping to find Balthus passed out in some street (“Gee, thanks” “No problem”), when he saw them. There were Knights coming up the street. Knights of freaking <em>Seiros</em>. So, with all the bravery and grace of his title, the next Duke Goneril had dived into an alley and hid behind a rotten cart. In the process, he had overturned what was left of a box. By some miracle, the Knights didn’t notice his desperate tactics. Unfortunately, the box was the home of a particular pile of ratty fur.</p><p> </p><p>“I destroyed his <em>home</em>, Baltie. I couldn’t just abandon him to the elements.”</p><p> </p><p>Of all the idiotic things. It was too early for this shit. “Say that I understand-”</p><p> </p><p>“Now, Baltie, don’t be heartless! Look at the poor dear-”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>And</em> that I give a shit about some fleaball when I have a bloody battalion marching in my head,” Balthus hissed in warning. Holst pouted but conceded. “Thank you. Say I care about the cat. How could I possibly help you? Seteth prohibits any animals in the monastery. Says they are unsanitary.”</p><p> </p><p>“There are horses in the monastery!”</p><p> </p><p>“Horses that we <em>ride to battle</em>. You haven’t forgotten that we ride them to battle, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“So? They are animals too! And what about the fishes? Or the owls? The wyverns? I don’t see how a cat is different.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus counted to ten. He held in his breath and exhaled forcibly.  “<em>Holst</em>, no one is going to let you keep the cat. And even if we tried to hide it, what do we know about caring for pets? That thing looks half dead.”</p><p> </p><p>Goddess, he looked like Balthus had just murdered his pony. “Help me find a way to care for him, won’t you Balthus? For your bro? For your best pal?”</p><p> </p><p>Well, shit.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Other alternative title: Holst and Balthus rescue a cat, fuck some shit up, stop a murder, and find the value of friendship along the way, Part 1 of ????</p><p>Yet another alternative: how many side characters that are only mentioned once can I fit in a single fic before it gets weird? - A novel by me</p><p>Casually using this oportunity to mention that no, Balthus is not my favorite character. But when my muse asked "hey, why are there so many cats in the monastery?" and, subsequently, "why are there so many cats in Abyss?", my brain just went "It was probably that idiot, Balthus".</p><p>There are, at least, 6000 more words already written down. I'll see if I can set up a posting schedule.</p><p>Last side note, I swear: there will be a couple of OCs here and there. No, don't make that face. There are only so many characters I can dig up from the wiki before I need more members for the Houses. I won't be giving any of them any lines and, mostly, they'll just be something of a plot device. My main focus will always be the canon characters.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Harpstring Moon (II)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Congratulations, a new member has joined your adventure party!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There weren’t any books detailing how to care for a cat in the library. He actually wasn't carry much hope of finding something there, but it would have been nice. Certainly would have made Balthus’ life so much easier.</p><p> </p><p>The only book that mentioned a cat on the title turned out to be a children’s fairytale compendium. Why it even was in the Academy’s collection was up to anyone’s guess.</p><p> </p><p>With a disgruntled snort, he shoved the thing back in its shelf. The few students currently using the library shot him wary glances.</p><p> </p><p>Asking around was a big no-no. If someone so much as suspected that they were keeping a cat with them, it was bound to reach Seteth eventually (Balthus was looking at Gautier, he was <em>looking</em> at fucking <em>Gautier</em>). And then they could kiss the cat goodbye.</p><p> </p><p>Well, he wouldn’t kiss that mop even if he was paid to do it.</p><p> </p><p>Holst probably would.  </p><p> </p><p>So Balthus counted his options:</p><p> </p><ol>
<li>They go down to town to ask. It is the most sensible choice, if the most time-consuming. But Balthus is not confident in his stealth record the other night. He has yet to hear whisper of students spotted getting blackout drunk, but he doesn’t want to chance it. Besides, if the Knights were to find them down there, there would be <em>questions</em>. And they would inevitably find out about the secret road <em>somehow</em> and, honestly, he really doesn’t want to do that to Christophe. Guy is so cheerful and kind; he does not deserve to get roped into this.</li>
<li>They give up on the cat. Let it out of Holst’s room. Hopefully, someone would find the little rat and take pity on it. If that someone was not Seteth, that is. Holst would cry, probably, but bitch had it coming for trying to take down his door the other day.</li>
<li>They tried to take care of the animal without any knowledge whatsoever. How hard could it be to care for a cat? It’s not like they could poison it. Wait, could they poison a cat? And it did look really sick, is the animal ill? Do you wash cats? Is that something that you do?</li>
<li>They ask for the help of someone they trust. There’s ought to be <em>someone</em> amongst their classmates that knows how to care for a cat, right? It’s not possible that everyone went without a pet that was not a horse for their whole childhood. That’s…kind of sad, actually. What does that say about Balthus’ childhood? Anyway, who would they even ask? He does trust the rest of the Golden Deer, but they can’t keep a secret to save their lives. They would be gushing about the cat to everyone on sight. What was the cat again? A Gauterion? Gautieron? Wouldn’t the ones from that House know – Nope, nope, <em>no way</em>. He was not asking Miklan <em>fucking</em> Gautier for help. Sadistic fuck would probably kill the rag and find it funny.</li>
</ol><p> </p><p>They really needed to decide, and soon. If the animal was actually sick and ended up dying on them, the whole purpose of caring for it would be a moot point. Even if Balthus felt no overwhelming urge to play nursemaid for the ugly thing, the thought of it wilting away in Holst’s room gave him an unfamiliar feeling of unease.</p><p> </p><p>After pondering away his whole afternoon and getting frustrated at books and not much else, Balthus went to present his winning ideas to Holst. His best friend nodded sagely, like he was a proud teacher getting results from his students right in time for finals, woe is him, and decided to find a classmate to help them.</p><p> </p><p>And then he went and got Christophe roped into it, the idiot. Why did Balthus even try.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Overall, he looks fairly sick,” Christophe whispered, like the cat was not used by now to the bombastic exclamations of one Holst Goneril. “I believe it’s a mix of starvation and maybe a cold? The fur looks pretty thin, for a Gautieron. It must have shed most of its outer layers, since Gautier is so much colder than Garreg Mach. I don’t know how much I can do for the cold, but if we keep him fed and provide plenty of water, he might make it.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus did notice that Christophe said “we” not “you”, but he didn't have the heart to point that out. It was obvious by the way his blue eyes shone when he saw the cat: he was a goner. The cat’s taken over. There was nothing to be done for the poor boy. May he rest in peace.</p><p> </p><p>The wisdom behind involving Christophe was something that he might be discussing with Holst in the near future. Apparent cat knowledge notwithstanding, the kid was a Blue Lion. It might hurt them in the long run if they got more houses involved. If their own house could barely keep a secret, what hope was there that the other two houses were any different?</p><p> </p><p>Holst swung his legs from where he was perched on the table like some little kid. “So, we just feed him and keep him warm? Got it, thanks Chrissy. Do you, by any chance, know what we can use to fed him?”</p><p> </p><p><em>Chrissy</em> allowed the nickname, or was too kind to be upset about it. “Well, fish, for starters. Raw is fine, but if you sneak out cooked fish, make sure that it has no condiments. Meat should also be fine. I would normally feed sick cats with a rigorous diet back home, but it would only be incredibly suspicious if we do that here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Still, it will be hard to sneak out that much food for the cat,” Holst hummed. He began fiddling with his sleeves. “It’s not like we have official house picnics. It would be hard to explain if we are caught more than once.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus sat heavily on the bed, reluctantly contributing to the discussion. “Where do we even store the food? It’ll rot if we hide it in our rooms.”</p><p> </p><p>The three of them fell silent, contemplating.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I know!” Christophe practically <em>sparkled </em>as he perked up. The cat curled pitifully by his feet flicked its tail but was otherwise unmoved by the conversation. “We can take different days in the kitchen. Most of the staff complain that they need more hands to help prepare food. I normally volunteer once a week, but they would be really grateful if you guys started helping out too. We could each take a different day and grab bits of food for the cat so that it isn’t as suspicious. The professors and the Knights normally leave you alone if you are genuinely helping in the monastery.”</p><p> </p><p>Well, shit. Volunteer work, of course. Balthus really wished he never went to town, if only to avoid this conversation. He was fairly certain that Holst wouldn't want to be doing it either. But it would be rude of them not to accept a perfectly good plan. And it was not like Christophe was being forced into this; he was actually brainstorming with them because he wants to help. The kid could get in trouble for this. Trouble that he didn’t ask for.</p><p> </p><p>Hm, seems like a terrible time to grow a conscience.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Sure!” chirped Holst, but he looked vaguely ill. “We can make a schedule.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus sighed, looking at <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em>. The bastard was snoring softly. Balthus hoped that all this work was worth it.</p><p> </p><p>It was probably not.</p><p> </p><p>“Christophe, what do you say about bathing the cat? He stinks.”</p><p> </p><p>Christophe looked stricken. “You guys really need the help.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Because of Chrissy’s plan and for the sake of <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em>, Balthus now had to wake up every Wednesday at five in the morning. It was grueling, it was hell, it was everything he hates in life. The cooks were initially suspicious of him and Holst which, fair, but they eventually settled and lowered their metaphorical hackles. After the initial wariness, they had all but shoved the keys to the kitchen in their hands. The cooks were so grateful that it was actually painful to watch. Were Balthus a little bit more empathetic, he would have decided to volunteer every day. Which he didn’t, because he actually liked himself and enjoyed his free time. If he perhaps by chance happened to drop by every Saturday or so…well…</p><p> </p><p>With the food they managed to snatch from the kitchen and a healthy supply of water, <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> started to look a little less like wyvern droppings and more like an actual cat. Not by much, but it was a start. His eyes got more focused, if still a watery, diluted sort of yellow. His fur started to look less ratty. He filled out a fair bit, not much of a walking skeleton anymore. Thankfully, his cold seemed to have passed after the first week, or so Christophe, cat expert, declared as they sat down for dinner. Holst had been the picture of intense relief while the rest of the Golden Deer, beelining to their table after fighting for their right to the special stew, stared in a dismayed sort of bewilderment at the intruding Lion. Their perplexity would start to melt off by the fourth day in a row that featured Christophe as the special guest of their table. The Deer were nothing if not adaptable.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus, immediately, went and bathed the damn animal. In his defense, the cat stank of garbage. It made it quite impossible to hover around Holst when he was doing Balthus’ homework (Balthus had to have <em>some</em> idea of what was being written for when someone inevitably asked him about something in his essay. He’s lazy, not an idiot). Also, <em>Holst</em> had started to smell like the cat. It would do no good for them to be discovered so soon because their House Leader happened to have too much of a heart to leave the dumb thing on the ground at night.</p><p> </p><p>So, yes, Balthus bathed the cat. No, Balthus did not ask Holst or, for the matter, Christophe, if it was a good idea. Yes, Balthus found out it was not, in fact, a good idea. Oh, the story he had to make up so that Professor Manuela would dress up his wounds. In the end, <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> now smelled like roses. Turns out he has a white chest. Go figure.</p><p> </p><p>(Holst had hollered when he saw his mangled hands during practice. Balthus just happened to accidentally trip him on the way out.)</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Balthus idly doodled around the edge of his notes. Professor Hanneman, in an effort to cram even more of the magic theory they are supposed to cover this month, had scheduled obligatory Saturday classes for the whole house. The subject would be slightly interesting, if only for the occasional wild sidetracking that tends to occur whenever anyone from the Golden Deer decided to rise their hand, were the aforementioned lectures not held at the crack of dawn. Balthus is quite certain that this was a conscious effort on the Professor’s part to somewhat mitigate the absurd debates and the subsequent loss of time that made these classes necessary in the first place. If anything, it seemed to be working, if not in the way the Professor hoped. He could spy a few heads slowly nodding off behind propped up books. Strolz was shamelessly snoring away over his closed tome. </p><p> </p><p>Holst sat prime and focused up in the first row. He did not <em>look</em> tired, but Balthus knew that he was soldiering on by consuming inhuman amounts of coffee. As House Leader (and next Duke Goneril, top favorite for the highest chair in the Leicester Alliance, as if that was not enough pressure on him), he was supposed to be setting an example for his classmates. Outside of the classroom’s stone walls, it is free-for-all, but Holst’s academics never suffer for his unruliness (or are not allowed to. Holst never felt like expanding on that topic).</p><p> </p><p>The light that streamed through the window was barely enough to illuminate the chalkboard. The candles that they managed to procure from the storehouse, half-used things that they were, helped somewhat in the darkness, but it was still a strain to read the diagrams. Balthus’ eyes were starting to sting and, judging by the constant blinking of the few surviving Deer, he was not the only one suffering.</p><p> </p><p>The stone classroom was clearly not designed for early morning lectures. While the Harpstring sun had started to warm up the days considerably, the mornings remain unconvinced of letting go of the remnants of winter. The whole house had had to drag coats and blankets to combat the persistent chill inside the room. As a result, they were still slightly cold but bundled up in an amalgamation of whatever they could find while still half asleep. From his seat in the back of the class, he could barely see someone subtly sneak a pillow from underneath their monstrous blanket. It would be funny if it wasn’t a new sort of torture.</p><p> </p><p>The classroom provided excellent acoustic, so that Professor Hanneman droned on and on with a whisper of his own voice underneath. Balthus realized he was zoning out when his own chicken scratch handwriting started blending in with the handful of doodles staining the paper, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He dearly wished he had a reason to change houses before Hanneman sprung such an awful scheme upon them.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus’ hazy brain registered that someone was shaking him. The second thing that dawned on him was <em>ow, my damn neck</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Painfully stretching his sore neck, he blinked heavy eyes to look up to Holst, who looked really awful but awake. There was chattering all around the classroom and Balthus made a quick visual check. Yup, Hanneman’s gone. Sunlight was now streaming in from both the window and the open door. Saints, how long was he asleep for?</p><p> </p><p>Holst sat on the table, wrinkling Balthus’ halfhearted notes. Not a big loss. “When I saw the schedule, I had hopes that at least one of my fellow Deer would make it to the end of the lesson,” he gestured amusedly to the front of the class, where some students are still napping over their books. “I fear I expected too much.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus’ laugh was subdued, still thick with sleep. “In our defense, Hanneman must have seen it coming. It should be illegal to impart a class at this hour. On a <em>Saturday</em>, of all days.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think he thought it genius,” Holst shrugged. “Maybe he thought we would be serious about his lectures if we were too tired to interrupt him. What a way for it to backfire, though.”</p><p> </p><p>Shrugging off his heavy coat, Balthus shoved his things into his bag. “I would have preferred sparring lessons. I never listen when he talks during the day; why would it be any different in the damn morning?”</p><p> </p><p>“You always prefer a spar over lectures, I don’t see how the time changes that.”</p><p> </p><p>“At least I don’t fall asleep in the afternoon lectures.” Not from a lack of trying, but that wasn't relevant at the moment.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey!” chirped Christophe from the entrance, looking way too cheerful for someone who had the morning shift in the kitchen. He looked momentarily confused at the mess of winter clothes that is the classroom. The rest of the Golden Deer were way too busy napping or chatting to pay him any mind.</p><p> </p><p>Holst hid a yawn behind his hand. Looks like the coffee was fading off. “Hey yourself. Do the Lions have class on a Saturday? I was not told anyone else was being tortured.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tortured?” Christophe just looked more confused, bless him. “No, it’s a Saturday. Why would we have class?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hanneman doesn’t hate you, that’s why,” grumbled Balthus. He bundled up his coat as quickly as he could. “Let’s go have breakfast, I’m starving.”</p><p> </p><p>A short walk to the Dining Hall and some masterful puppy eyes from Christophe later, they were sitting with a large stack of fresh sweet buns just out of the oven. They had beaten the rest of the Deer to breakfast, so the morning might just be salvageable.</p><p> </p><p>“Why would Professor Hanneman hate you?” Apparently, their misfortune still bothered Christophe. Not enough to not claim most of the buns for himself, but it was a close thing.</p><p> </p><p>“Because he refuses to allow our creativity to flourish,” said Holst, who looked mournfully at the sweet bun hoard that Christophe was guarding like a dragon. The kid <em>did</em> get them the pastries, so he was entitled to take them.</p><p> </p><p>At Christophe’s persistent befuddlement, Balthus forced his attention back to the conversation. “Our house likes to debate way too much. We once used up a whole morning discussing whether performing Dark Magic as a demonstration inside the monastery could be considered blasphemous or not.”</p><p> </p><p>“And there was that other time when we tried to convince the Professor that painting formulas on horses could decrease casting time,” Holst added before taking a bite out of a sweet bun.</p><p> </p><p>“I think that was the day when Hanneman lost all hope on us. That or when we tried to create a spell to make wyverns breathe fire, and then used his class’ open forum as an excuse to debate whether they would still be considered wyverns or dragons. All those books got confiscated in the end.”</p><p> </p><p>That seems to quell some of Christophe’s worries, but he now seemed concerned for a whole different reason. “Why is your house-”</p><p> </p><p>“Weird? Full of idiots? A mess?” Holst said with a hint of pride.</p><p> </p><p>“I was going to say eccentric but sure, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>“You get used to it,” shrugging, Balthus snatched the last bun from the plate. Holst glared at him coldly, as if he could intimidate anyone when sporting heavy bags under his eyes. Balthus conceded what was left of his tea, which Holst stared at in disgust and pushed back to him. Suit yourself.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m glad then, to be a Blue Lion, if only to skip Saturday classes.” Christophe frowned for a second, and then rummaged through his bag thoughtfully. He brought out a small green parcel. “I almost forgot. Yesterday, I ran an errand in town for one of the knights. There was a meat vendor that had dried meat amongst his supplies. He told me it’s unsalted treats for dogs, but cats can eat them too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aw, Chrissy” Holst accepted the parcel and peered into its contents. He let out a low whistle. Balthus leaned over so he could see too. That’s…a small fortune of dried meat. “You like the cat more than you like us!”</p><p> </p><p>“I enjoy spending time with you two,” Christophe was quick to reassure, achingly earnest. That was Faerghan noble training in action. Or perhaps that was just Christophe. “I just thought that this could be a food reserve, of a sort. Seeing as it won’t rot as easily.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re just messing with ya, pal” Balthus snatched the parcel from Holst’ hands and hid it before any of the Diner Hall’s scarce users can see it. Or smell the smoky scent wafting from inside. It must be really good meat, to have such a delicate scent. <em>No, bad Balthus, that’s cat food</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah Christophe, don’t worry. Thank you, really, you didn’t have to trouble yourself like this,” Holst said, somewhat flustered. Ah, too much emotion for his coffeeless-addled brain.</p><p> </p><p>“It was my pleasure,” Christophe beamed at them.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>As the week came to a close, <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> graduated from almost a feline to full-blown pampered housecat. Watery yellow gave way to sharp, piercing gold that looked at everyone with contempt. The “layers” or whatever that Christophe had mentioned started growing back in, so that the thing grew in size considerably. <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup> </em>now prowled Holst’s room regally and claimed his bed for himself. (They found that one out when <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> almost took Balthus’ hand off when he had tried to sit on the bed. Rude much?)</p><p> </p><p>The plan, as convoluted as it had been at the start, was, all in all, surprisingly good. Flawless execution too, except for the bathing the cat part. He had to give it to dear Chrissy, this might actually sort of work.</p><p> </p><p>He should have known better.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was supposed to be posted on Saturday, but alas, the muse had other plans. Why not write almost 2500 words between the first Christophe scene and what is now the next chapter? It's not like the author has anything else to do, right? </p><p>Thank you for your kind reviews! Honestly, I didn't expect this fic to get any attention. I don't even use any of the main characters of the game. Seeing people actually enjoy this mess makes me want to keep writing it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Garland Moon (I)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The first ever game of Where's Waldo, reporting live from Garreg Mach Monastery.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Organized posting schedule? I don't know her.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thursday morning had them doing joint drills with the Black Eagles. It was supposed to be a lesson on advanced cavalry tactics, with the added bonus of shoving two houses together to see if they bonded somehow. It might have worked if it were the Lions, if only for Christophe’s natural charisma. But alas, Professor Hanneman had morning classes with the Eagles, Professor Manuela had classes with the Deer and, evidently, the Goddess had a personal vendetta against the citizens of Leicester.  </p><p> </p><p>While the Adrestians were, traditionally, more magically inclined, their current roster had some capable riders. Aiden von Hresvelg, House Leader until he and his sister were called home rather suddenly, was a demon on the saddle. The Battle of the Eagle and Lion had left half of Balthus’ classmates with nightmares of the brunette prince charging head first against their formations like a man possessed. Poor Antonia always ran out of the room whenever he walked in.</p><p> </p><p>The Eagles, even without their star student, lived up to the ruthless reputation left behind by the von Hresvelg siblings. And they were relentless when it came to house rivalries.</p><p> </p><p>All in all, the lesson plan for the day left the Golden Deer on a precarious position. Going against the Eagles on horseback was a doomed enterprise. They were sure to lose miserably no matter what tactics they tried to cook up. On top of it all, the horses they borrowed were mostly new additions to the stables. The knights had needed the trained mounts for a mission, so they left the skittery horses behind for the Academy’s use.</p><p> </p><p>Getting obliterated by the Adrestrians was so low on everyone’s list of morning priorities that Balthus was honestly yearning for kitchen duty.</p><p> </p><p>Naturally, Holst felt like meddling.</p><p> </p><p>An hour after they had departed from the monastery, the pink-haired devil had stricken up casual conversation with Professor Manuela. Balthus and the rest of the Deer looked on curiously, while the Eagles marched on like it didn’t concern any of them. Holst jumped from topic to topic like and excellent diplomat, which, he actually was, being the heir to one of the most powerful Houses in the Alliance. Professor Manuela didn’t seem to notice the danger brewing right under her nose.</p><p> </p><p>By the time they had reached the training field, Holst triggered the ambush. He threw the Professor one of his wide-eyed, suspiciously innocent stares. “Professor Manuela, I have a question that’s been bothering me for some time.”</p><p> </p><p>The woman threw Holst a smile that was one second away from being a leer. Should Balthus be concerned? Probably. The rest of the Deer seemed mildly perturbed, but their curiosity overpowered any sense of remorse they might feel about sacrificing their leader for their amusement.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Holst? What is it, dear?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Well</em>–” Holst rocked slightly on his heels, dragging out the syllable “–the other day, I was in the mess hall during break and some of the scholars came out. You’ve seen the scholars, I suppose? They rarely frequent the communal halls. They were very heatedly discussing something about a novel when Professor Hanneman came in from the Great Hall. He seemed to join their discussion, but I can’t seem to recall the specifics. I take my responsibilities as House Leader <em>very</em> seriously, so I was mentally sorting out extra tutoring for the week. By the way Professor, while we appreciate all the extra magic tutoring, I am of the opinion that you should include flying exercises in this month’s academic planning. I believe that some of my classmates have a penchant for it, and with the right amount of training–”</p><p> </p><p>“Holst, dear,” Professor Manuela’s smile wavered, “kindly get to the point. We have drills to begin.”</p><p> </p><p>Holst looked just the right amount of chagrined, a perfectly cultivated mask of an embarrassed student. As if he ever rambled if it was not a conscious decision. “Yes Professor, my apologies. As I was saying, the scholars seemed to be very engrossed in their discussion. However, Professor Hanneman said something that had me conflicted for a while. He said that, while the repute of the <em>Sonnets for the Heavens</em> was heavily darkened by the plagiarism scandal, the overall quality of the piece was undisputed. The same could not be said, sadly, about <em>Greenfield Hymn</em>, and all its abominable incoherency. But that really makes no sense to me, Professor. Isn’t <em>Greenfield Hymn</em> one of the most renowned arias to date? I seem to recall you starred in it for the Mittlefrank Opera. I can’t bring myself to believe that anything playing on its stage could be considered abhorrent from a literary point of view.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus was begrudgingly impressed that his pal could come up with such bullshit on the spot. None of that had any chance of actually working, if it were anyone else. But alas, Balthus really should start with that list, because the Crest of Goneril makes its bearers become sirens, apparently.</p><p> </p><p>Instead of calling his bluff like a normal, sane person, Professor Manuela turned on her heel very slowly. Her smile had frozen on her face, so she looked like a chilling rendition of her usual self. She locked eyes with Professor Hanneman, down by their limited supplies and the practice horses, and grinned in a way that was very disturbing to watch.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“How dare you.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>The shouting match that followed was nothing short of spectacular. It would certainly go down in history books for eternal commemoration in future student gatherings. Balthus was only slightly regretful of not witnessing it in its full glory, as Holst pounced on the moment of distraction. Never one to waste opportunities, he bellowed out a warcry, charging the unsuspecting Black Eagles with his training axe lugged over one shoulder, yellow cape flapping in the wind. The rest of the Golden Deer, bless those chaotic demons, didn’t even pause to ponder about the consequences of sabotaging a lecture. They charged right behind their house leader, brandishing everything from a training sword, to a very rusty iron lance, to only his bare fists because Professor Manuela had thought it <em>useless</em> to use his <em>gauntlets</em> while riding a <em>horse</em>. He would show her.</p><p> </p><p>The first to go down was the only Eagle that had been on a horse at the moment. The blue-haired girl slipped off the saddle with a yelp as the wind spell hit. Her mount whinnied, spooked by the unexpected movement, and galloped off to join the small herd.</p><p> </p><p>The sight of their fallen classmate, dazed and slightly rumpled, but otherwise uninjured, seemed to be enough for the Eagles to recover from their stupor and scramble to organize a counterattack.</p><p> </p><p>His apparent lack of a weapon turned him into an instant target. That they saw Balthus as the weak link in this fight honestly made him want to wheeze with laughter. He did not go around boasting about being the King of Grappling just to get a rise out of people. Not always, in any case.</p><p> </p><p>Some Eagle he barely knew by name, a lancer with fierce eyes, tried to overpower him with an upwards swing. Balthus dodged in time, using his opponent’s hurried change of stance to sweep his legs off. The man did not go down, unfortunately, but his moment of panic gave enough of an opening for Balthus to yank the lance from his hands, tossing it towards the Deer closest to him. Ah, Strolz. He’ll find a use for that.</p><p> </p><p>When it became evident that Balthus wouldn’t be defeated so simply, Astolfo decided to take him on seriously. As if <em>he</em> were anywhere near Balthus’ skill level. It was painfully evident that the noble had been trained for intricate lancework, not roughhousing. His posture was awkward, his swings wild and uncoordinated. Balthus started feeling secondhand embarrassment for von Bergliez when all he had to do was sidestep to make the noble lose balance. This just made the Eagle more and more frustrated, which worsened the quality of his technique.</p><p> </p><p>In a last-ditch attempt of catching him by surprise, Astolfo charged at him with all the strength that a man whose head barely reached his opponent's shoulders could muster. Balthus dodged the clumsy charge, reaching out to grab the man on a chokehold. Astolfo flailed, screaming out threats that had Balthus laughing raucously. He was fully enjoying making an idiot out of the man when the Professors thought it wise to stop shrieking next to their supplies. They still seemed to be more pissed at each other than with their unruly students, but they paired up grudgingly to stop any accidental murder from happening. They did look downright vicious, however, when they noticed that all the horses had ran off, scared by the impromptu battlefield and wildly flying spells. The wonders of using untrained horses.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus already knew they would be blamed for this, but he went and cemented his fate by high-fiving Holst.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>A communal lecture and subsequent chore punishment later, Balthus was idly doodling on the edges of the book he was reading. Professor Manuela had tried to assign him night watch as an extra sanction, but she had desisted when Holst reminded her that they were actively volunteering in the kitchens. Of all the things to be grateful for, Balthus never thought to include kitchen duty to the list, until now. Aside from the unholy hours, volunteer work was surprisingly relaxing. No one had any expectations of how well he needed to perform. And, of course, doing something productive with his time gave him somewhat of a free pass with the Professors, as previously exemplified. An unexpected development, but a welcome one nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>He registered the doorknob turning in some recess of his brain, but the sudden bout of pondering had him otherwise occupied.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey man, have you seen Lord Purr?”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus paused on the reading of <em>Warhorses, Magehorses, and the Differences Between the Breeds</em>. This book was not so bad, Professor Hanneman might actually be unto something. True, this appeared to be revenge for the stunt they pulled on the morning, but this tome was <em>legible</em>, for a change. He might not have such a penchant for riding, and he might be just a tad intimidated by the towering black things that magehorses are, but he wouldn’t really mind learning more about them. From a distance. As far away from the stables as humanly possible. Preferably only by books. Wait, Holst was trying to talk to him, wasn’t he?</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Lord Purr, have you seen him?”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus stared blankly at his House Leader.</p><p> </p><p>“The cat, have you seen him.”</p><p> </p><p>“You named the cat <em>Lord Purr</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I couldn’t call him Cat his whole life.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah but, you named <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> Lord Purr? What kind of name is that?”</p><p> </p><p>“What kind of name is <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em>-”</p><p> </p><p>“A perfectly fine name for that thing you found!”</p><p> </p><p>“Lord Purr is a perfectly good name! Never mind that, I take it you haven’t seen him.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I haven’t.” It suddenly downed on Balthus. He did not like at all the direction that this conversation was heading towards. “Holst, please tell me that you locked your door this morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course! What am I, an amateur?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, then how is he not in your room?”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t lock the window.”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t-” Balthus counted to twenty. Holst Goneril had won them the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Holst Goneril was a tactical genius. Holst Goneril was unparalleled in both technique and might with an axe. Holst Goneril was also fucking stupid.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus stood up, bookmarking the page quickly as he grabbed his jacket. “Alright, go find Christophe, I’ll go look around. Maybe he’s not wandered far.”</p><p> </p><p>“Got it,” Holst slipped out of his room, presumably in search of Christophe.</p><p> </p><p><em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> was not near the kitchens, which talked a lot about the cat’s intelligence. If Balthus were a cat, he would have gone to where there’s actually food. What’s the point of sneaking out if there wasn’t a potential prize involved? Saints, the dining hall was serving <em>fish</em> today. Why wouldn’t a cat want to go where there is free fish up for the taking?</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t near the pond either. It made sense, what with the couple of Knights fishing by the dock. They had a small basket of fish, though. Wouldn’t that attract <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> towards the pond? Apparently not.</p><p> </p><p>The Greenhouse appeared to be closed, so unless the cat spontaneously acquired the ability to phase through walls, he probably wasn’t in there. Balthus backtracked, went behind Holst’s dormitory. The window was slightly open, but there were no pawprints to be found on the grass. How the cat came down from the second floor, he was not entirely sure. It looked way too high up for a cat to come out of that stunt unscathed. Then again, what does Balthus know about cats? Maybe the dumb animal jumps off of windows just for kicks. He was going to find a way to nail that window shut forever.</p><p> </p><p>He went up to the sauna, saw the steam coming out, and decided that <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> would not stay inside a room full of heat and be quiet about it. It was not complete pandemonium, so most likely no cat inside.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus walked up to the main hall. There were not many knights in there, but the tables were occupied by monks and priests. A cursory view of the room revealed zero cats on sight. The animal might have tried to head for the cathedral, but Balthus was very skeptical of it being able to scurry around unseen for so long. The monastery was such a huge place with so many constantly deserted halls that it seemed unlikely that <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> would choose to escape <em>towards</em> the strangers rather than away from them. Had it decided to prowl through the busier areas, someone ought to have seen him. Were that the case, he was half expecting to run into a fuming Seteth any moment now, and that would answer <em>that </em>question.</p><p> </p><p>With nothing to amount for the time he spent uselessly circling the grounds, Balthus was about to go back and see if Holst had found the cavalry when he saw it. There, a tiny shadow slipping away from the corner of his eye. A distinctly <em>cat-shaped</em> shadow.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus could vaguely discern a familiar black tail tip disappearing inside the heavy wooden doors of the training grounds. Ah, of course. Whenever he had seen cats out in the marketplace, they always seemed to condense around sunny spots. Most of Garreg Mach was wide open space with plenty of areas for a cat to curl up in. However, <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> didn’t strike him as a particularly social animal. Had it chosen to nap anywhere around the monastery, it would inevitably come face to face with someone. But out here in the training grounds, a facility that no one used when the sun was up so high, the cat wouldn’t be disturbed. Plenty of sun, mostly assured solitude, and guaranteed silence. Perfect bait for a cat.</p><p> </p><p>He would never admit to feeling a slight swell of relief, but Balthus was nevertheless grateful for finally locating the animal. He wouldn’t need to explain himself to any irate clergy. Thank the Goddess, he will go to the Saint’s festivities without complaining from now own.</p><p> </p><p>His victory, however, was short lived when he realized the glaring mistake in his deduction. The training grounds, however hot and sweltering they may be at midday, were not empty. Balthus felt his soul leave his body as he stepped into the actual arena.</p><p> </p><p>With all the grace and dignity that only a cat could muster, <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> swayed up to the sole user of the grounds. And, like a cat ought to do, curled himself around the first leg he reached, meowing pitifully. He pressed a furry cheek against his victim, leaving faint traces of long, pitch-black cat hair.</p><p> </p><p>Pale blue eyes stared down at <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em>. Bright, inquisitive yellow eyes blinked slowly up to the Blue Lions’ house leader. Pale blue eyes that then honed in on Balthus, standing like an idiot at the edge of the grounds. He had never felt the urgent need to pray for the ground to swallow him before, but there’s always a first time.</p><p> </p><p>Slowly, as if not really thinking about it, Glenn Fraldarius bent down to scratch <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> behind the ears. “This your cat?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh,” said Balthus, like an idiot. Karma really did come bite him in the ass for insulting the cat’s intelligence, didn’t it?</p><p> </p><p><em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> bumped his nose against his new friend’s palm. It seemed happy, the little shit. The cat never did that with any of them. That it never did that with Balthus was not surprising, but <em>Christophe</em>?</p><p> </p><p>“I thought we couldn’t keep pets within the monastery,” mussed Glenn, still petting the cat, like the perpetual ratty state of its coat didn’t bother him at all. It felt extremely surreal to see the volatile Lion fussing over a cat.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, no, I mean, yeah, no the rules haven’t changed.” Great, his speech was back. Now, to find a way out of this situation. “Just, you know, I found the thing looking half dead and didn’t really think about that until I had brought it back with me.”</p><p> </p><p>Yes, that was believable. Great job.</p><p> </p><p>Glenn hummed, gathering <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> in his arms like some lapdog. Oh, sure, they feed him and care for him and nurse him back to health but the moment their backs are turned, the damn cat abandons them for the single most mercurial person in the monastery. Great. What an ungrateful little bitch. Oh, he really hated cats.</p><p> </p><p>Was he purring? Oh Saints, was the cat purring? <em>What the hell was even happening</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Your cat actually looks pretty healthy, for being half dead as you claim. Good eyes, good reflexes. How long have you been taking care of this cat?”</p><p> </p><p>That seems like an attempt to incriminate Balthus. Were it anyone else, he would try his luck grabbing <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> and booking it. Truth is, he’s never spoken to Fraldarius at all, but he didn’t seem the type to snitch on people. Or care about rule breaking, really. Still, deflection might prove useful here.</p><p> </p><p>Avoiding answering Fraldarius’ questions might incite the wrath of the man, though. Giving too much away is not ideal but, at this point, what else can Balthus do?</p><p> </p><p>Oh hell, Balthus will risk it. “Since Harpstring moon, more or less. I’m pretty sure it was a stray.”</p><p> </p><p>Glenn hummed thoughtfully. Even when leading the conversation, the cat was the sole focus of his attention. “Still looks slightly malnourished. Have you thought of a name?”</p><p> </p><p>Was…was he having a civil conversation with <em>Glenn Fraldarius</em>? About <em>cats</em>? Balthus was sure the man was capable of it, of course, but he was just…difficult to deal with. The Golden Deer generally stirred away from the swordsman and his sharpness. Let the Blue Lions handle that, they didn’t want anything to do with whatever was going on between Gautier and Fraldarius. They obviously abhorred each other and their shadows but couldn’t the Archbishop like, put them in different houses or something? Geez.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh well, <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> has been looking better now-”</p><p> </p><p>“You named your cat <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, no. Technically, his name is Lord Purr, but I happen to think that’s a fucking stupid-”</p><p> </p><p>“What kind of name is Lord Purr?”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly! I keep telling Holst that-”</p><p> </p><p>Shit, he’s gone and done it now.</p><p> </p><p>Somehow, and Balthus will actually pray to all the Saints tomorrow, <em>what the hell is happening with his life</em>, Glenn freaking Fraldarius ends up carrying <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> back to Holst’s room. Balthus actually wanted to carry the cat back himself, no need to involve the fucking <em>house leader</em> <em>of the Blue Lions</em> in this, and had almost lost an eye in the process. Damn cat.</p><p> </p><p>So there he was, climbing up all the unnecessary stairs on his way to the end of the second-floor dormitories. He proceeded to open the damn door to see Holst and Christophe pacing the room, apparently having waited for him like he’s some sort of hero coming to save them, while <em>Glenn Fraldarius</em> came in with <em>The Rag<sup>tm </sup></em>practically melting in his arms like he was not a cat and he was actually made of sorbet. Everyone kind of just stards at each other for a really long, uncomfortable time.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Balthus began. “Here’s a story.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Was this my excuse to write about Glenn? Yes, yes it was.</p><p>I made a timeline and all to see if he could fit in this story. Imagine my joy when I realized that yes, if I bend canon a tiny itty bit, all of these chaotic idiots could be classmates.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Garland Moon (II)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Here be Lions (here be slightly blue lions)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A new sporadic update. Yay!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time they’re all caught up to <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup>’s First Great Big Escapade</em>, the sun is almost completely gone. It’s just the four of them, crammed into a tiny room that was not built for housing four people simultaneously, staring thoughtfully at the cat playing with the edge of Holst’s cape.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you going to do with the cat?” asked Glenn, who seemed somewhat reluctant to be here but not, say, murderous, so Balthus guesses they’ll be fine for now. He looked at Holst to prompt him to answer, because if there’s anyone in the room who should be handling Fraldarius, it’s the one who came up with the idea of bringing the cat into the monastery in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>“The general plan is to keep him in here,” stated Holst, as dignified as someone being used as a glorified cat toy could state. “Today was but a fluke in an otherwise flawless plan. If we buy him something to entertain himself with while I’m gone, then he shouldn’t escape again.”</p><p> </p><p>“He must have gotten out because there was no one to keep him company,” Christophe added helpfully. “We could plan ahead so that he’s always staying with someone. Being alone might make him anxious and push him to escape again.”</p><p> </p><p>Glenn frowned, likely just having the sudden realization that it’s one of <em>his</em> Lions that completes the strange quartet.</p><p> </p><p>“But the cat has never been particularly affectionate, why would it bother him to stay alone?” The animal always glares at anyone that opens Holst’s door, why would it feel the need to be coddled all of a sudden?</p><p> </p><p>Holst sighed, crossing a leg over the other. He almost kicked Balthus’ shin in the process. “Baltie if you get locked in a room for a whole day, wouldn’t you at least get bored?”</p><p> </p><p>“We spend every Saturday as the unwilling audience of Professor Hanneman’s attempts at hypnosis. Ain’t it the same?”</p><p> </p><p>“You can always <em>leave</em> the classroom–”</p><p> </p><p>“And give him a reason to assign me more absurdly complex readings? I have to write him an essay on warhorses<em>, </em>Holst. <em>Warhoses</em>. They’re just horses, you ride them to battle – what am I supposed to discuss there?”</p><p> </p><p>“Their history?” Christophe piped in.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I don’t think there’s enough controversy there to write a <em>whole assignment</em>–”</p><p> </p><p>“Explain to me how you’ve managed to hide a cat for this long?” Glenn pinched the bridge of his nose in what must have meant extreme annoyance in Fraldarius-language. He must have zoned out at some point of the conversation to deal with his rising vexation.</p><p> </p><p>The three of them fell quiet. Christophe seemed to shrink on himself a little bit.</p><p> </p><p>Holst waved his cape around, eliciting a pleased <em>mrrrow</em> from <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em>. “Well, we’ve been keeping Lord Purr warm and fed. If nobody has noticed that I’m keeping a cat in here, then they’ll probably not notice for the rest of the year? Maybe? I admit we didn’t think this through very well, but just look at it. Isn’t he worth it?”</p><p> </p><p>Glenn did, indeed, look at the cat. He frowned slightly, like something was really bothering him but he couldn’t quite place why. “I get that you’ve done a surprisingly good job so far, but do you even know how far along is she?”</p><p> </p><p>Three sets of eyes blinked at him in confusion.</p><p> </p><p>Glenn looked at them as if, somehow, they’re the idiots and he might, perhaps, consider running them through with his rapier right then and there. “Please tell me that you named her Lord Purr as some sort of asinine joke and not because the three of you are imbeciles.”</p><p> </p><p>Christophe gasped which, good for him, he’s got it. But it takes Balthus a couple of seconds after he’s uttered a reluctant “she?” to actually process what’s happening.</p><p> </p><p>Glenn’s pale blue eyes narrowed and oh, is Balthus glad he’s a Golden Deer and not a Lion. Rest in peace, Christophe.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, shit,” said Holst, utterly unhelpful.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>After that particular world-shaking revelation, Glenn had declared them all unfit for caring for a queen (Balthus had thought that was Fraldarius being weird about cats but turns out they are actually called queens when they’re nursing, what the fuck Glenn, why would you know that) and unofficially joined their crusade. Balthus did not feel particularly joyful about that specific development. Three people involved was a bit excessive – four students with next to no history of friendly relations between them was downright suspicious.  </p><p> </p><p>The day after their wannabe sleepover, they were all sitting in the Dining Hall like this year’s most unlikely book club. Christophe befriending them? Sure, that could happen. He was a ray of sunshine with every student in the monastery. Glenn? Now, that is surely sending alarm bells down the grapevine. The other Lions and Deer kept shooting them weirded out looks, likely contemplating whether or not they should drag their House Leaders to the infirmary. Astolfo down by the Black Eagle’s table looked downright perturbed.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus would really like to have his membership revoked from this bizarre club, thank you very much.</p><p> </p><p>Glenn keeps stabbing (sorry, eating, but he’s doing it surprisingly angrily) his pheasant like it personally offended him. Balthus is not sure why he’s angry. They haven’t really done anything to cross him, have they? There was the whole cat gender debacle, yes, and they technically cut short his training session to rope him into breaking several rules that could <em>possibly</em> get them expelled, but neither one of those is enough reason for the mistreatment of his food. Oh well, as long as he’s not draining his irritation on <em>them</em>, he can kill that cooked bird all he wants.</p><p> </p><p>“So, um…” Christophe looked actually really intimidated sitting there right next to his House Leader. Last night, when it had been the four of them crammed uncomfortably around the damn cat, he hadn’t looked this jittery. Maybe it was shock at seeing death-by-classmate as a new, exciting possibility in his future. The kid hadn’t <em>looked</em> shocked, not even when he assured them that it was fine that Glenn was getting in on the whole plan. His tone hadn’t sounded so sure, though.  Geez, the Blue Lions have some real issues if mild murder might be on the menu for them. Balthus is seriously considering asking Holst to recruit the poor kid. “Cat litters are not that easily predicted. If we consider the fact that Lady Purr was emaciated when we first found her, it’s a miracle that she’s gotten this far into the pregnancy.”</p><p> </p><p>A miracle. Great. As if <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> was not enough of a prima donna, now she’s a saint too. Balthus gulped down the last of his own pheasant. He can’t have this conversation while still eating. “What are you proposing? We can’t exactly take care of one kitten. If she gets a litter of them, what are we going to do?”</p><p> </p><p>Holst shrugged, like it’s not that big a deal that they’ll essentially be providing for a damn cat and her family of runts by putting their necks on the line. “We’ve gotten this far, haven’t we? And now there’s four of us, thanks to the lovely help we’re receiving from Glenn.”</p><p> </p><p>Glenn grunted, still very much murdering his bird. It truly is admirable how he’s capable of expressing such intense exasperation with zero verbal communication.</p><p> </p><p>“We just need to organize this a little bit better. Lady Purr needs a place to nest, right? Well, I’ll take care of that, she’s in my room. We’ll need to have more supplies around for the kittens, whenever they come. If we keep the volunteer routine – hey, Glenn, will you join the Kitchen Brigade? We’re volunteering different days with the cooks to feed Lady Purr.”</p><p> </p><p>Glenn grunts again, which seemed to be an agreement of some sort.</p><p> </p><p>“Great, so we should have enough to feed them all. We’ll just need to be more careful with her and everything’ll be alright.”</p><p> </p><p>Nothing’s alright with this, thought Balthus, but he’s resigned himself to his future as a cat nursemaid. Alas, there go his dream of a War Master certification.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>In a second attempt at solidifying bonds of friendship and cooperation between the houses, the professors start assigning joint chores every day. Given the spectacular failure of the previous bonding activity, Professor Manuela had decided to separate the Golden Deer as much as it was humanly possible to do. They would, she explained, be doing menial tasks with members from the other two houses, and thus they should use the opportunity to get to know them better. Most of their classmates were fellow nobles, and this presented an excellent opportunity to strengthen continental relationships. A tea party without tea or any manner of respite. A formal dinner except that no food was involved. Diplomatic talks but no consensus is reached. A one-on-one playdate, if you may.</p><p> </p><p>No one had seemed particularly fond of the idea, per se. Balthus had taken personal offense on it being called a <em>playdate</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The <em>volunteer</em> for the first day (the professor had actually asked for a volunteer, the outrage) had, of course, turned out to be Holst. For the second time in less than a month, he had been sacrificed for the Deer’s amusement. Their Leader had looked at them with dismayed betrayal but had grudgingly accepted his fate.</p><p> </p><p>His partner ended up being one of the von Bartels siblings. It would normally be rather pleasant to complete the task of the day – the von Bartels were usually really friendly and sorting a tremendous amount of correspondence was not that horrible a chore – if Holst hadn’t knocked the Eagle out during last month’s battle.</p><p> </p><p>Sucks to be him.</p><p> </p><p>(Balthus had laughed a lot when Holst came back from his chores with a rapidly darkening bruise on his face. Holst’s warning glare had been magnificent, but he had only laughed harder.)</p><p> </p><p>The second day of chores, the Deer betrayed Balthus as soon as he got in the classroom. It surely had something to do with Holst. Professor Manuela took one look at him and said “Library duty”, whatever that meant.</p><p> </p><p>Once class has finished for the day, Balthus reluctantly went to the Library. The librarian shot him a <em>look</em> which made evident that his reputation had spread amongst the rest of the staff. Whatever he thinks Balthus can do to the books is up to anyone’s guess.</p><p> </p><p>The monastery must have a worrying shortage of staff, judging from the disordered piles of returned books that the librarian pushed him towards. They towered precariously on the tables like the world’s saddest mountains. Some of them were even covered in cobwebs – how long has it been since <em>anyone</em> cleaned in here? He had said so to the librarian, and the man had glared at him with such intensity that Balthus had to peruse his memories to try and recall if he had ever done something particularly vexing to him. Balthus wisely decided to shut up until the librarian left.</p><p> </p><p>One of the smaller piles trembled like it was undergoing a mini earthquake. The uppermost books fell down – no, that was clearly a hand. The books were picked from the pile and a very disgruntled-looking Glenn appeared amidst the city of abandoned tomes. There were cobwebs tangled in his uniform and a smattering of dust bunnies clung determinedly to the strands of his decaying braid. He looked at Balthus in deep disappointment, but it was not clear if he was the cause of said emotion.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait until you see the bookshelves,” sighed Glenn, and the sudden flow of air sent some of the cobwebs flying free.</p><p> </p><p>The bookshelves would give Balthus nightmares for months. It became evident fairly quickly where the library had not seen visitors for years: the dust accumulated on the floor formed layers so thick that their boots soon turned grey. Taking the cobwebs off was necessary if they ever were to put the books back in, so Balthus and Glenn soon looked like they had matching costumes for a masquerade ball. Spiderhouse has such potential to become a trend.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m pretty sure this counts as abuse. Can they do that? Did we sign away our freedom when we enrolled?” Balthus grumbled as the third spider dashed off from the obscure corner he was dusting. At least, he <em>hopes</em> it was a spider.</p><p> </p><p>Glenn passed him the books that were, hopefully, from this section. The librarian hadn’t really given any directions to either of them, so it’s on him if they end up messing up whatever sorting system he has going. Balthus gave a quick glance to the cover and frowned. <em>On the Engraving of Dagdan Pinewood: A Dissertation.</em> Really?</p><p> </p><p>“They could have sent us on night patrol,” Glenn snorted. And subsequently sneezed. “It rained yesterday.”</p><p> </p><p>“Some thunderstorm it was!” Balthus let out a short, sharp laugh. “Poor suckers.”</p><p> </p><p>A beat of silence. Then–</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, are you serious?” Glenn somehow managed to look even more miserable than he already was. “Why would you go out during a thunderstorm?”</p><p> </p><p>Glenn scoffed, turning to the next bookshelf and attacking the cobwebs with the duster. Glenn Fraldarius, terror of the spiders. “It’s not like I chose to go. Professor Hanneman was very insistent on us not shrinking chores. Besides, it only started raining when we were getting back.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh, and I thought Holst had it bad.” Shoving the tome between other similar titles (why does the monastery even have a woodcarving section? Who even uses these?), Balthus dusted some cobwebs off. They floated down in tatters to cling to his boots. Great.</p><p> </p><p>He was fishing for the dust bunnies burrowed in his hair when his brain decided to replay the conversation for him. Wait a minute.</p><p> </p><p>“Glenn if you had chores yesterday, why are you here today?”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus saw his expression turn sour.</p><p> </p><p>“You know how Hanneman gets lost in his research?”</p><p> </p><p>Professor Hanneman was infamous for the sheer amount of time that the Houses under his tutelage lost for the most bizarre reasons. The scholar never did it on purpose (that was known), but he tended to forget that he was a teacher when he was deep into a particularly vexing investigation. And he always forgot to leave a substitute. “Uh, yeah? He sometimes cancels class with us to go travel down to Lake Teutates for no reason.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, he’s off to find new angles of his research yet again,” grumbled Glenn as he went to pick up more books to classify. “Meanwhile, he left our chore schedule written down on the chalkboard.”</p><p> </p><p>“Let me guess, he wrote your name twice and nobody wanted to cover for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Lucky me,” he drawled. The tome he picked literally broke down in his hands, moldy pages falling down to the ground in a disgusting display. Glenn scowled and threw the poor excuse of a book down the hall.  “I <em>really</em>hope that the Eagles are having a more miserable time.”</p><p> </p><p>“One can only hope,” sighed Balthus. The fell in companionable silence as they focused once more on dusting and arranging, dusting and arranging. Balthus wanted to say that it was not such a terrible chore, but the decrepit state of everything they needed to sort out was starting to become an issue. He was going to hate the smell of old scrolls so much once the afternoon ended. He was still going to rub this one in Holst’s face, though. Fraldarius was a not so awful torture partner. If the pink menace was trying to make Balthus suffer like he did with the von Bartel, then oh boy is he going to be getting the shock of his life.</p><p> </p><p>Oh, wait. Fraldarius and the cat thing. Right.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, pal, I’ve been meaning to ask.” Glenn looked up from the bookshelf he was dusting. “Why are you helping us? I forgot to ask you back at the mess hall.”</p><p> </p><p>“Given how incompetent you turned out to be, someone has to make sure the cat won’t just drop dead,” Glenn huffed, the prick. Out of all the Lions, it just <em>had</em> to be him. There are like five more, couldn’t the Goddess pick anyone else? Oh, wait, no, Gautier is in that House. Shit, okay. Maybe it was not so bad after all.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not completely true! Sure, we didn’t know the cat was a girl–”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>How</em> did you not realize–”</p><p> </p><p>“–but she’s not dying, is she? She’s doing just fine. Look, it’s not that I’m not grateful to have someone with some idea of what he’s doing, but Holst, Christophe and I were not doing so bad. If you wanted to help the cat, you could have just given out advice and left it at that.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s my second reason.” And oh, is the Lion’s glare a sight to behold. Balthus would be feeling slightly nervous were the effect not lessened by the spiderwebs decorating his hair like ribbons. “You pulled Christophe into this outlandish plan of yours. He’s my classmate – I’m supposed to look after him. I can’t allow you to take advantage of his naivety.”</p><p> </p><p>Given by the scowl and the slightly hostile body language, Balthus supposed the man was trying to pull rank on him. Or just intimidate him through sheer willpower. Sure, the status of House Leader did give him authority to boss plain mortals such as Balthus around, but there was something missing. This did not feel like just a matter of duty or whatever sense of loyalty one has to their own classmates. The undercurrent of his tone kind of sounded familiar, like when Holst would–</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Do you have a younger sibling?”</p><p> </p><p>Glenn blinked, the only sign that the question threw him off. “Yes, a brother. Why?”</p><p> </p><p>Ah, that explained it. Seems it’s not just Holst that gets angsty when he has no one to baby. “Doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about Christophe – I don’t think anyone could take advantage of the kid if they wanted to. I, for once, would feel like a monster if I tried.”</p><p> </p><p>The swordsman narrowed his eyes, seemingly disbelieving, but any attempts at continuing the discussion were cut off by a loud sneeze. Glenn scowled, as if frustrated that his own nose was betraying him</p><p> </p><p>Balthus glanced at him critically. Let it not be said that a Deer was not clever when in need. “Do you think that, if you fake an allergic reaction, the librarian will let us slip away?”</p><p> </p><p>Glenn raised an eyebrow skeptically, glanced back at the humongous amount of tomes left, likely said <em>fuck it</em> internally, and quickly agreed to try it out.</p><p> </p><p>It did work, actually. Apparently, librarians were not so used to dealing with sick students, go figure. Balthus and Glenn shared a disbelieving look as they miraculously reclaimed their free afternoon.</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>That night, Holst dropped by Balthus’ room. The visit, in itself, was not out of the ordinary. Holst has sometimes passed out in his <em>bed</em>. What is strange is the look on Holst face. Oh, it was going to be one of those nights.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey man,” the pink-haired man dropped on the edge of Balthus’ bed. Balthus very carefully covered his ink flask and put down his pen. He took a second to organize his desk before turning to face whatever turmoil is biting at his friend.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey Holst, how is <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> doing?”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop calling her that,” Holst huffed. His lips quivered as if to smile but he dropped it at the last second. Yikes, Balthus’ not gonna like this conversation. “She’s doing fine, finally settled on a spot for her nest. Happens to be my drawer, but guess I’ll have to surrender it to her. She’s getting really lazy these days. Maybe she’ll have that litter soon.”</p><p> </p><p>Holst let out a sigh and yup, here it comes.</p><p> </p><p>“See, I’ve been thinking.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shocker.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up. I’ve been thinking that I have not been that much of a friend this last month.”</p><p> </p><p>That made Balthus pause. “Eh? What are you talking about, pal?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, really,” and Holst seemed to be gearing up for a long tirade and oh Goddess, Balthus really hopes he won’t <em>cry</em>. He’s useless if Holst cries. “I pushed the cat thing on you. I really wanted to keep the cat, but I shouldn’t have forced you to help me with it. It’s asking a lot, especially if Seteth finds us out. And then I went and lost you your free time and now I’m forcing you to work with the Lions-”</p><p> </p><p>“Halt! Stop, really, stop,” Balthus dropped his head on the back of the chair. “Look, you’re not forcing me to do anything. I’m doing this on my own free will. Sure, I don’t like cats and sure, maybe Glenn was not my ideal next friend but this, for whatever reason, makes you happy. If my friend is happy, then I have no issue helping you out.”</p><p> </p><p>“I-,” and now Holst <em>really</em> looked like he’ll start crying. Aw hell.</p><p> </p><p>“Besides, do you really think you could force me into this? You and what army, Goneril?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aw, shut it Baltie,” Holst wiped his eyes with his hands. He paused for a second and let out a deep breath. “Goddess, I really don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t cool with me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Holst, we’re bros. You’ll basically family to me. How could I be angry at you? For a cat, of all things.”</p><p> </p><p>Like she was summoned, Lady Purrs sang out a big yowl. It was alarming, to say the least, but especially because Balthus was rooming two doors down from Holst.</p><p> </p><p>They looked at each other in a moment of panic.</p><p> </p><p>Oh hell.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Garland Moon (III)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Clingy relationships and the only rulebook that matters.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Christophe was already fluttering outside Holst’s door like a distressed maiden. He kept circling the door like he wanted to burn a track into the floor, eyes flitting every now and then to the lock. His uniform was rumpled, as if he had thrown on the jacket in a hurry. Balthus wondered if the kid’s psychic before he remembered that Gaspard is Holst’s only neighbor. Must have been studying before the cat decided to try out her singing skills. Or sleeping, given by the way his hair sticks up on the whole left side of his head. Would be pretty amusing if the unholy screeching could just stop for a second.</p><p> </p><p>Holst said a hurried hello to the Blue Lion kid and flung his door open. He darted in and quickly came right back out looking as pale as a sheet. “We are definitely not prepared for that.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus chanced a glance inside and felt instantly sick. “Uh, yeah. I would say so.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not prepared for what?”</p><p> </p><p>They turned like coordinated dancers to stare dumbly at Ladislava Bernat, House Leader of the Black Eagles, who was staring frostily at them. Balthus did the mental calculations and yeah, Holst’s neighbors are a stone wall and Christophe, Christophe’s neighbor and, in turn, his neighbor, is <em>Ladislava</em>. How did he forget? And really, isn’t this fantastic. It’s not like they are trying to keep the animal a secret or anything. Surely there’s no issue with her screeching her head off in the middle of the night. No one of importance is going to hear her lovely voice, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>The House Leader raised an expectant eyebrow. Goddess, it’s like a reprisal of Glenn, now in brand new red.</p><p> </p><p>Lady Purr chose that moment to insert herself into the conversation by letting out a new piercing yowl. Ladislava’s eyes flickered to the door behind them before glaring at them again. “So? What is that?”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus, apparently, wanted to die <em>real</em> badly. “A cat.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, that sounds like a cat. Why is there a cat inside Goneril’s room and why is it dying?”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not dying, she’s giving birth.”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s what now.”</p><p> </p><p>Holst finally broke out of whatever disbelieving stupor he had been trapped in. He turned to Christophe with his eyes shining in determination and hissed “get Glenn here”. The kid, bless him, needs to be told no more than that before he’s bolting down the hallway in search of the other Lion. Ladislava watched him go with pursed lips and, if anything, she managed to look even more miffed. Her fingers twitched against the edge of her scabbard in what must be a physical manifestation of how fast her patience was running out. Balthus looked at Holst with a pointed glance. The pink menace returned the look and shrugged, brushing back the few rebellious locks that obscured his face with the movement.</p><p> </p><p>And then proceeded to not do a thing, the bastard. Why was it always like this?</p><p> </p><p>Ladislava still stood there, like she expects an answer. An answer that, frankly, Balthus is getting incredibly tired of parroting to people he’s even more unwilling to involve in this mess.</p><p> </p><p>“She’s a cat and she’s giving birth. Can you help her? No? Then help us find someone who can.”</p><p> </p><p>Ladislava appeared momentarily shocked, as if not used to receiving orders from people of other houses and immediately deciding that she hated it. Truth to be told, Balthus was momentarily impressed with himself. It’s not common of him to go around intentionally riling up figures of relative authority, no matter what <em>certain pink cretins</em> say. If they’re looking for a fight then no problem, he’ll give them one. But hell, the way the Eagle girl was looking at them, as if she was deciding if she should be getting personally offended or not, was not his ideal choice of activity for the night. He would rather be working on that torture of an essay than here in no man’s land. If what little he knows about Ladislava is to be believed (read: the maybe three things he’s heard from the grapevine aside from her full name and country of origin), then they better pray for leniency when Seteth hears about this.</p><p> </p><p>Holst fiddled with the hem of his cape. He looked between Ladislava and Balthus, taking in the deepening of the girl’s frown, and took a deep breath. Finally remembering he’s supposed to be the mature one here, Holst took a step forward to both shield his housemate from Ladislava’s icy glare and act as a wall between the girl and the unlocked door. What that’s supposed to accomplish, Balthus wasn’t sure if he understood, but he did feel slight relief at not being the center of attention anymore. He was better suited to provide backup for his pal rather than leading this fight.</p><p> </p><p>The thundering of boots coming from farther down the hallway was akin to a divine chorus of salvation. Balthus had never been more ecstatic at seeing the cavalry coming to their aid. The relief must have been exceedingly obvious, for even Ladislava chanced a glance towards the approaching reinforcements. Christophe, hair even more disheveled than before, dragged along a mildly confused Glenn, who was carrying a sheathed rapier with the arm that wasn’t trapped by a panicking boy. Did Christophe run all the way to the training grounds and back? Balthus would like to think that Glenn doesn’t go around carrying his weapon for fun. Maybe he does, who is he to judge the man?</p><p> </p><p>The Blue Lion House Leader looked at Holst, looked at Ladislava, looked at Balthus, and promptly decided that there’s something that’s not adding up.</p><p> </p><p>“Glenn!” exclaimed Holst, effectively becoming the center of attention once more. He did a vague motion with his hand that he obviously thought was more self-explanatory than it actually was. “This is a such a lovely interhouse reunion. Do you think you could help shed some light on a tiny itty-bitty problem we have?”</p><p> </p><p>Glenn was looking more lost by the second. He almost dropped the rapier when <em>The Rag<sup>tm </sup></em>decided to remind them that they were not paying attention to her. The yowl wasn’t exactly loud this time. It sounded more like the cat was doing her damn best to imitate a croaking frog.</p><p> </p><p>If Holst was expecting Glenn to be useful, then he must be sorely disappointed. Fraldarius blurted out that he, theoretically, knew about cat births but no, he’s never actually seen one so yes, they’re all out of their depth here. Balthus warmly welcomed Glenn Fraldarius to the idiot club.</p><p> </p><p>Ladislava sighed, like she couldn’t quite believe the amount of incompetency she’s being witness to. Balthus didn’t like the sound of that sigh. By the sudden unconscious shuffle that Christophe did to subtly hide behind Glenn, neither did the Lions.</p><p> </p><p>The Eagle tapped a rhythm against the side of her scabbard, gave off the impression of reeling in her disdain, and promptly turned on her heel. They watched her march down towards her house’s dormitories and knock insistently on a closed door. It creaked open, bathing the hallway with a sliver of candlelight. Ladislava said something that they couldn’t quite discern from where they were still rooted to the ground in front of Holst’s door. The light was blown out and a second Eagle girl came out of the room.</p><p> </p><p>Ladislava nodded and then marched up towards them once more, the light-haired girl trailing behind, looking more curious than bothered for being dragged out of her room at night. She…what was her name? She’s a von Bartels, of that Balthus was sure. Not the one that had fallen off the horse during the Deer vs. Eagle battle of last month. No, that had been a blue-haired girl and he knows that the other von Bartels twin has pale hair. Something with an L? Shit, he can’t remember.</p><p> </p><p>The von Bartels girl greeted them, a little bit haltingly, before being ordered inside the room by her House Leader. Points to the von Bartels for not even batting an eye when she pushed past them.</p><p> </p><p>Ladislava eyed them critically before she started relegating them tasks (“Albrecht, go find warm water. Gaspard, go find towels. Fraldarius, help Albrecht bring that water. Goneril, get in there and help Lifgarda” “But-” “<em>Help her</em>, I said.”). Holst looked at them pleadingly and Balthus hurried to drag both Christophe and Glenn away from the scene, much to the Lions’ confused questions and Holst’s yelled protests. There was no way he was sticking around long enough for Holst to dump midwife duty on them.</p><p> </p><p>It’s hilarious, Balthus thought as they parted ways to find the requested materials, that they scrambled to comply as soon as someone with more than half a brain became the reluctant hero of the night. He felt slightly relieved that he was not the only one out of his depth in this terrible plan.</p><p> </p><p>Leaving aside the few minutes that they spent freaking out and not doing much else, the rest of the night passed by smoothly. Holst was eventually kicked out of his own room, to which he pouted and complained that perhaps he wasn’t helping but <em>it was his room and his sock drawer, they have no right to sit him out</em>. Bullying Holst for that became their only entertainment of the night until <em>Ladislava</em> was kicked out too. The von Bartels girl glared at them with a fierce look in her eyes and told them to sit pretty and wait.</p><p> </p><p>The slam of the door closing echoed in the silence of the hall. A few heads peaked out of their rooms, someone even loudly complained about respecting sleeping schedules, but turns out there was <em>some</em> merit on involving the three house leaders of the monastery. The few curious bystanders looked dumbfounded at finding the bizarre group meeting in the hallway. This was sure to become prime fodder for the grapevine come morning.</p><p> </p><p>Once they had herded their respective houses back into their dormitories, the five of them stood in awkward silence in the corridor. Those hours slipped easily into Balthus’ top ten worst moments of his life.</p><p> </p><p>They resolutely ignored each other until Holst’s door was eased open and Lifgarda quietly ushered them in. It was midnight and they were squeezed around Holst’s sock drawer watching three kittens squirm around a mess of blankets.</p><p> </p><p>“That went surprisingly well,” Holst stage whispered. But he was always terrible at being quiet when it mattered, so everyone heard him just fine.</p><p> </p><p>Glenn closed his eyes like he was praying for the Goddess to strike him down right then and there.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The following week was…different, to say the least. They were already hanging out with Christophe (kid could befriend a Demonic Beast, he’s just that kind) and Glenn came and went, like the cat they were keeping in Holst’s sock drawer, which they learn from Christophe is typical Glenn so <em>no, it’s nothing personal, he’s just weird like that</em>. It always earned them concerned looks whenever Glenn showed up to eat with them at the dining hall. Balthus often saw his housemates glance at the Lion suspiciously, but either his status or his reputation for volatility kept them from asking outright. If Glenn noticed, he didn’t seem to mind the subtle hostility emanating from the whole house. Holst kept trying to make them behave, but his efforts so far amounted to nothing.</p><p> </p><p>Two intruders during free time made their house queasy, but now <em>Ladislava</em> sometimes decided to drop by for no reason and Lifgarda was constantly asking about the kittens. Balthus was pretty sure they would give the teachers a heart attack if they kept adding people to their book club. The Golden Deer seemed to be in wholehearted agreement.</p><p> </p><p>Their house, like the weirdos they were, came to the collective decision that enough was enough. Balthus saw the warning signs in Margarette’s overly obnoxious complaints and the permanent frown etched on Strolz’s face, but he decided that he valued his life and that there was no point on trying to fight the inevitable. The house, as a whole, settled upon manifesting their inconformity by becoming worryingly territorial about their House Leader. When prompted by Balthus, long after the main fires of this particular uprising had cooled down a bit, they admitted that Glenn alone was fine (Chrissy doesn’t count, he was an honorable Deer at that point) but Glenn <em>and</em> Ladislava at the same time was crossing some imaginary line. Plus, there clearly was <em>something</em> going on that they were not being informed off. That just wouldn’t do, that just wouldn’t do at all. That was a clear violation of the Golden Deer rulebook and such an outrage would not be tolerated from anyone.</p><p> </p><p>(The rulebook was a secret kept under threat of retaliation. It was not written; it was never spoken off. The rules were decided upon during one dreary weekend trip to Fhirdiad. Balthus had honestly thought that it was their boredom speaking, but <em>noooo</em>. He found that out when he had unknowingly broken rule sixteen: thou shall not place thy blame upon one of your own if thou has the opportunity to place it upon thy rivals. The Deer had rallied together to punish him, and he had had to struggle through a week during which all of his left socks were stolen. He still has no clue as to how they did it or what they did to his socks.)</p><p> </p><p>So, they closed ranks. Practically swarmed Holst as soon as he stepped into a communal space. Goneril could rarely go anywhere without at least one Deer tagging along. They were deaf to his complaints to <em>leave him the hell alone, what is even wrong with all of you? </em>Whenever Holst went into the dining hall, the whole majesty of the Golden Deer House (plus Christophe, when he felt like being a hazard) dragged their leader along, perched on a single table, and glared at anyone that dared to come close. The threat of excessive social interaction and maybe a verbal fight seemed to deter Glenn just fine. Ladislava, on her part, seemed to deem it not worthy to cause a scene for, so she allowed it to slide. Lifgarda didn’t count because she rarely talked to them and preferred to drop at night to check up on the kittens. Alas, a new victim of the cats.</p><p> </p><p>The other houses appeared to be apprehensive about the bout of enmity. Any outsider gave the Deer a wide berth. It even happened when they stood in line, which made the perplexed expressions on the resident bishops’ faces all the more hysterical.</p><p> </p><p>“You have to do something, Baltie,” Holst whined from where he was buried under blankets like they could warp him back to his State over in Leicester. He had next to no magical talent, so the scene was rather pitiful. Balthus grunted in reply, passing over his weekly contribution of kitchen-swiped fish for <em>The Rag<sup>tm </sup></em>to feast upon. The cat blinked up to him slowly and graciously accepted the offering from her servant. A shame that this is what Balthus had been reduced to.</p><p> </p><p>Holst burrowed deeper into the fabric so that only his hair stood out to mark his presence. “I swear, everywhere I look, there’s always one of them watching. I don’t need five babysitters breathing down my neck all day!”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s rough, pal,” Balthus tried very hard not to laugh at him. He was moderately successful. “It’s kinda your fault for involving the other two houses instead of the rest of the Deer. They’re mostly scorning you for that.”</p><p> </p><p>The mountain of blankets seemed to deflate in defeat. “But they are terrible at keeping secrets! It would put Lady Purr and her kittens at risk of being discovered!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, and you already knew Glenn was such a trustworthy confidant.”</p><p> </p><p>“Woah there,” Holst huffed, or at least it seemed that the noise he made was a huff. “I didn’t invite Glenn over by choice. He pretty much joined on his own volition.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus sighed, sitting heavily on the creaky wooden chair. “You tell the Deer that.”</p><p> </p><p>The blankets shifted until Holst could poke his head out of them. “Do you think that would calm them down?”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe. But wouldn’t you need to explain why he decided to tag along?”</p><p> </p><p>“Goddess take me now,” Holst groaned. “There must be something than can mollify them. I have to beat them back with a stick whenever I want to grab a snack. A stick, Baltie! I’m not even kidding!”</p><p> </p><p>What a relief that it was not Balthus that had to deal with the overly clingy house. “They really are pissed off, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“I want to change houses,” Holst declares, completely serious. “I’m sure Ladislava’s house is better behaved than this.”</p><p> </p><p>“And then you would have to deal with the other von Bartels, who hates you.”</p><p> </p><p>“If Lifgarda likes me then I’m sure her brother won’t destroy me.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus snorted. “Lifgarda <em>tolerates</em> you. I wouldn’t even go as far as to claim that she enjoys your company.”</p><p> </p><p>Holst waved a hand in a vague shushing motion. He sat up, and the gleam in his eyes was something Balthus did not like at all.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay but what if–”</p><p> </p><p>“Pal, please don’t come up with something worse than the cat situation.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, listen to me–” Holst smiled the crooked smile he got when he was about to plan a terrible plot. “–What if I roped the Deer into this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, you sure that’s such a good plan? We got pretty lucky the last three times but–”</p><p> </p><p>“Baltie, we have four cats now,” Holst stated the obvious. “The three house leaders can’t start acting suspicious at the same time. The Deer, however, would not raise any alarms. The professors are pretty much used to us acting strange by now.”</p><p> </p><p>“But you just said that you don’t trust them,” Balthus replied.</p><p> </p><p>Holst scoffed, fishing out his boots from under the bed. “At the very start of this delicate operation? Not at all. But I trust that they won’t want to be left in the dark. Specially if the other two houses are involved. Can’t stain the Golden Deer reputation for meddling like that.”</p><p> </p><p>“But,” Balthus stood up too, now slightly worried. “The other two houses are not involved. At least, not the entirety of them.”</p><p> </p><p>“They don’t know that,” said Holst with a grin. Balthus prayed this wouldn’t backfire on them.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not even I know why Ladislava is here. She kind of showed up and refused to leave.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Garland Moon (IV)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cat herding 101.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>How no one remembered that kittens can be noisy little pests, Balthus was not completely sure. It seemed as if they were all quite shocked by the fact that one cat became four cats in a manner of weeks. Or perhaps Ladislava did know from the moment she set eyes on <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> and her box of assorted tassels, and promptly decided to sit aside and sip her tea while the apocalypse brewed right in front of her.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>One would think that, being the house leader, declaring a house meeting would be an easy task. Doesn’t seem like much of a challenge to tell six or so people to be somewhere at a certain time, <em>or else</em>. They have a classroom for themselves and mostly the same schedule, so it was highly unlikely that someone could find obstacles in the way.</p><p> </p><p>Somehow, Holst managed to find himself some obstacles in the way.</p><p> </p><p>First off, he whined to Balthus, the extra special bonding chore extravaganza had yet to let up. The professors had taken the scarce sightings of Glenn Flardarius out of his self-imposed social isolation as some sort of divine thumbs up of approval, and thus had made it a point to extend the activities for the foreseeable future. Everyone pretty much hated Glenn at this point, and Holst had warned that the animosity could extend to Balthus as well as soon as the collective hivemind that was their class remembered that it was him who had a positive bonding experience with the Lion. Balthus kindly mentioned that it kind of had been Holst’s fault to have extracurricular torture shoved at them when he decided that fighting it out with the Eagles while on class hours was a good plan.</p><p> </p><p>“I see how it is,” Holst sniffed theatrically, letting himself fall back on the bed. A prima donna somewhere in Enbarr swooned at such performance.</p><p> </p><p>Second of all, he rambled on, they couldn’t just meet up in the classroom. While ‘theirs’ in the complete sense of the word, it was far too close to the other two houses for it to be truly safe. What if someone went snooping around the Golden Deer classroom just as he was breaching the sensitive topic of the cat family they’ve been keeping for more than a month? What if someone from the faculty decided to drop by unannounced? What if that sadist from the Lions decided it was high time he changed classes? Holst just couldn’t take that risk out of consideration of poor Lady Purr.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you ever get to talk to them?” Balthus asked. He thought it was a rather sensible question, no matter how little Holst seemed to appreciate him interrupting his rant.</p><p> </p><p>“Baltie, I’m getting to it,” Holst sighed. “Let your pal vent a bit, yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>Holst proceeded to narrate in vivid detail how he had finally taken the reins of their house again, battling them back with a chair like some wyvern tamer. Balthus honestly wanted to know when he could expect the onslaught of apoplectic rage once the Deer put two and two together and realized that Balthus had been in on the plan the whole time while they hadn’t. Just, you know, for reasons that were not at all concerning the future integrity of his sock drawer. It had nothing to do with anything Balthus-related at all. Just pure curiosity.</p><p> </p><p>The looming shadow of retribution in the form of the Deer’s very questionable revenge tactics had been what moved him to hound Holst in that particular topic during breakfast, which in turn had been enough to motivate said Holst to be his obnoxious self. He had barged into his room, hogging his bed (Balthus’ bed), like the title of House Leader gave him ownership over his subjects’ belongings. Holst then proceeded to complain about the Deer as if he didn’t love every single one of their dark, twisted hearts. All Balthus did was nod and grunt incomprehensibly when there was a lull in the rant. It seemed to work like a charm, so perhaps Glenn was actually a hidden genius of social interaction.</p><p> </p><p>Holst’s impassioned rendition of his victory speech in the Battle of the Study Room, the whole army of the Golden Deer versus one Holst Goneril armed with a quill, was interrupted by a high-pitched mewl coming from underneath the bed. They stared at each other for a second, and Balthus used that moment to collect himself and send a quick prayer to the Goddess.</p><p> </p><p>Whom, if anything, had perhaps started to turn a deaf ear to his begging if the last month was any hint of it.</p><p> </p><p>Holst leaned over the bed, pink locks spilling over the edge in a silky cascade. As if summoned by the promise of a potentially shreddable pink material, a grey kitten sprang up from his hiding spot, gnawing at the new plaything. It looked a little bit unstable on its legs but had a striking resemblance to one of the tassels up in Holst’s room. Which was impossible, because the kittens were too small to wander around the hallway.</p><p> </p><p>On their own.</p><p> </p><p>Out in plain sight of every. single. student. inhabiting the monastery for the current semester.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus, very carefully, grabbed the tiny menace. It mewled shrilly when picked up and squirmed in his grip. Its tiny claws had nothing on its mother’s, so Balthus was not bothered by it.</p><p> </p><p>“Say, Holst.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“This wouldn’t be one of <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em>’s spawn, would it?”</p><p> </p><p>“One, stop calling her that. She has a name, use it,” Holst sniffed. Sure, get offended, see if you can be worse than the drama queen back in your room. “Second, I think so? They have been more active lately.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but,” Balthus readjusted his grip on the wiggling animal. “What is it doing here? And if this one’s here, where are the other ones?”</p><p> </p><p>Holst had the gall to smile cheekily, but he couldn’t mask the panic trying to twist his expression into a grimace.</p><p> </p><p>Turns out, only <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> was in Holst’s sock drawer. Balthus glared at her because, really? These were her kids; shouldn’t she be looking out for them? The cat gave him a slow blink, as if she was aware that she might be sending him off to his death and couldn’t find it in herself to care.</p><p> </p><p>What an asshole.</p><p> </p><p>It made absolutely zero sense that the cats got out from Holst’s locked room, and yet there they were. Clicking their tongues and hissing out <em>‘cat’</em> up and down the hallway because no one had had the foresight to actually name the little tassels. At least, he had not been notified of any official naming occurring. They couldn’t exactly discuss the kittens every single time they met up now that they were under the scrutiny of a whole house and a half. Still, Balthus would like to think that someone would tell him if they had named their newest source of stress.</p><p> </p><p>After half an hour of peering at corners and looking out of windows, they had still to make any headway in their lame rendition of a murder mystery. There was not even a single cat hair to clue them in as to what had happened to the kittens. It was when they were reaching the pinnacle of desperation that Holst had the great idea of <em>running away</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not running away!” Complained the man that was very much running away. “The house meeting is right now. After all the trouble I had to go through to herd them together for a meeting, I’m not letting the opportunity pass me by! Come on Baltie, you know I have to take one for the team here.”</p><p> </p><p>“And your solution to that is to, what, leave the cats wherever they are?”</p><p> </p><p>Holst gave him a pleading look.</p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely not.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Baltie</em>–” damn that man. “We need to find them but also we need the help of the house. Can’t you take care of it for a while? I’m sure it won’t last that long.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus ended up agreeing, but he wasn’t ecstatic about it.</p><p> </p><p>The little tassels hadn’t been anywhere around the hallway, so he concluded that they must have gone down the stairs. How they managed it, Goddess knows. They were so tiny that they must have faceplanted their way to the bottom. Their mom survived jumping off a window, but she’s a grown cat, not a tiny kitten with scarce control over its own paws.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus released a relieved sigh when he didn’t find any of the tassels passed out at the bottom of the stairs. He might not be entirely on board with the whole cat idea, but that doesn’t mean he’s a monster.</p><p> </p><p>Still, that did raise the issue of where the little demons had ran off to.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus considered doing a reprisal of his first grand tour around the Monastery for the whole three seconds that it took for the idea to form, and then he discarded it. There was way too much ground to cover and his targets were much too small to be easily spotted. Besides, if he found one and it started mewling, what was he supposed to tell the scholars? That he caught a rare disease? As if that was going to work.</p><p> </p><p>Bolting right back to the dormitories in the event of actually finding a kitten was extremely unappealing. With the stroke of bad luck he’s been lugging around for the past two moons, he’s not going to be finding them huddling together in some dark corner like they were an organized gang. How does one even begins herding cats?</p><p> </p><p>Why would Holst leave the strategy up to him? He knows he’s failing that class, for crying out loud.</p><p> </p><p>Salvation came in the unlikely vision of a swordsman muttering his way towards the classrooms. Balthus could have cried in relief.</p><p> </p><p>“Glenn! Pal, we have a situation.”</p><p> </p><p>Glenn stopped long enough for him to catch up. He didn’t seem surprised to see Balthus, which was odd, but he did seem vaguely irritated, which was just everyday Glenn.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I know.”</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, that definitely didn’t add up. “What? When did you talk to Holst?”</p><p> </p><p>Glenn shrugged and kept on walking, trusting Balthus to catch up without explaining where it was, exactly, that they were heading towards. “I didn’t. I found them.”</p><p> </p><p>Call it divine intervention or whatever; Balthus was so glad that he didn’t have to stumble around the monastery after a herd of cats.</p><p> </p><p>The kittens, said Glenn, had been mewling up a storm near the Blue Lion’s section of the dormitories. That didn’t really answer how they got there or why no one had noticed a bunch of kittens singing shrill arias like a wandering art company, but that was irrelevant for the moment. Point is, he had rounded up the three cats and planned to take them back to Holst’s room but, lo and behold, it was locked. With no other appealing alternatives at his disposal, Glenn had taken initiative and squirreled away his contraband before attending to his chores.</p><p> </p><p>Surprisingly convenient, but Balthus was not about to question the sudden blessing of good luck.</p><p> </p><p>Glenn was leading them past a hallway filled with small classrooms that Balthus had never in his life seen before. Not because he chose not to, mind you, but because they were reserved for magic studies. Professor Hanneman had decided that the Deer were a disgrace to the magical arts and a safety hazard after they had somehow managed to start a fire while practicing <em>basic wind spells</em>. Thus, they had been collectively banned from the practice rooms until further notice (read: banned until they graduated, most likely).</p><p> </p><p>With the exception of the few Eagles occupying the first classrooms, the wing was completely deserted. It was striking him as slightly bizarre that they seemed to be heading towards the very last rooms. Balthus did not know that Glenn had any affinity with magic at all.</p><p> </p><p>Knowing Glenn, he would be perfectly content with leaving him without answers. As such, he risked the question. “So, where are they now?”</p><p> </p><p>Glenn’s whole face twitched, like he’s trying to express an emotion but he can’t quite decide on just the one. “I left them with Christophe in the practice rooms.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus heard the words independently but they refused to connect in any meaningful way. “Christophe’s a mage?”</p><p> </p><p>Right on cue, from the very last classroom came a surprised yelp, a chorus of squeaky squeals, and the unmistakable sound of a book meeting the ground in a loving embrace. Blue sparks sizzled out past the crack of the door to sputter into nothingness over the cold stone floor. The awkward grimace Glenn made was enough to clarify that Christophe was not, in fact, a mage.</p><p> </p><p>Ah, there comes the antithesis to his good luck.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus stared at Glenn and then at the door.</p><p> </p><p>Glenn raised an eyebrow in a way that managed to enunciate <em>yeah, what of it? </em>nonverbally<em>, </em>and crossed his arms.</p><p> </p><p>Waiting.</p><p> </p><p>Just waiting.</p><p> </p><p>Ugh, <em>fine</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus rapped his knuckles lightly on the door. A noticeable scramble went on inside the room. A chair scrapped loudly followed by a displeased <em>meow</em> and immediate shushing. The door swung back, and Christophe’s terrified expression eased back into friendly warmth at the sight of him.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah.” He sounded worryingly out of breath. Just what was it that he was doing? “It’s just you, thank goodness.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who were you expecting?”</p><p> </p><p>“No one?” Christophe frowned and peered at him as if waiting for Balthus to explain his perfectly reasonable question.</p><p> </p><p>“But you just said – <em>hey!</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Demonstrating how he qualified to be the pinnacle of social grace, Glenn pushed past the two of them with a particularly exasperated sigh. Christophe ducked out of the way just as his house leader breezed past, which did a lot to exemplify just how interactions went for the Lions in general. Balthus, having next to no foresight on the matter whatsoever, stumbled and almost landed on his ass.</p><p> </p><p>Christophe looked at him apologetically, like he had personally shoved Balthus to the ground. Glenn, who had personally shoved Balthus but not to the ground, did not even look at him. Instead, he beelined with all the grace of the diva that he was towards one of the tables and poked around what appeared to be a mountain range of shredded paper right next to a somewhat tattered bag and–</p><p> </p><p>Ah, right. The cats.</p><p> </p><p><em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em>’s spawn had not inherited their mother’s vainglorious ways, but they had turned out to be destructive storms compressed into very wimpy bodies. Holst’s drawer was the first victim of the tassel’s primitive attempts at written communication. They hadn’t quite moved on from the drawer just yet, but this first escapade proved that that would not be the case for much longer. <em>The Rag<sup>tm</sup></em> wasn’t exactly a mellow, behaved lady, but she wasn’t lightning in cat form. Balthus will blame the absentee father for that trait.</p><p> </p><p>Glenn picked a kitten from the mess on the table and was rewarded with an outraged chirp. The black tassel squirmed on his hand, fur bristled in a way that made it look like a particularly gloomy dandelion, and latched on a thumb with wrathful vengeance. To Glenn’s credit, he didn’t even blink at the mauling of his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“You sure they’re alright here?” Granted, it wasn’t like there were a lot of students milling about the practice classrooms, but Balthus thought that the general idea was to keep the kittens <em>inside</em> the dormitories and <em>out</em> of sight.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, they’re perfectly fine!” Christophe said with his usual cheer. “I always use this classroom and people rarely come around while I’m practicing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright but–” Balthus scratched the back of his neck “–what if someone hears them?”</p><p> </p><p>“No one comes because this is Christophe’s classroom,” Glenn drawled. The kitten gave a last halfhearted swat at his finger and glared at it as if daring his opponent to question their obvious superiority.</p><p> </p><p>“But–”</p><p> </p><p>Glenn cut him off with a very pointed look. “It’s <em>Christophe’s</em> classroom.”  </p><p> </p><p>He paused, considering the threatening intensity of his maybe friend. Balthus hadn’t really taken in the classroom before he entered (possibly due to some subconscious reasoning along the lines of <em>seen one classroom, seen them all</em>), but now that he was actually looking, he could somewhat infer <em>why</em> no one would come here. Whatever piece of furniture that was not broken was covered in suspicious soot patches. That wasn’t too uncommon, legends said that collateral damage from stray spells was part of monastery’s yearly budget, but the fact that even the <em>ceiling</em> sported a kaleidoscope of burn marks was mildly concerning.</p><p> </p><p>They were actually very strange marks. Were they caused by lightning? Why would anyone try lightning spells inside a room? He was debating whether or not to ask about them, but Glenn subtly shook his head. Alright then.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps sensing that Balthus wasn’t going to drop it (which was stupid because he knew when not to stick his nose somewhere, Golden Deer or not), Glenn grabbed the forgotten bag, placed his rage monster inside, and then proceeded to scoop up the other dwarf hurricanes, much to their vocal dismay.</p><p> </p><p>“We should drop them off. Let’s go.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait!” Glenn did wait, because ignoring Christophe was akin to stealing candy from orphans. “I haven’t finished my exercises.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus felt a foreboding chill, but he couldn’t tell why.</p><p> </p><p>“Christophe–” Glenn started rather exasperatedly, but he was cut off.</p><p> </p><p>“Please!” Ah, fully-powered puppy eyes.  “I’ll be just one spell.”</p><p> </p><p>Balthus did not laugh at Glenn’s face. He can’t legally admit that he saw Glenn Fraldarius, certified knight, melt like sorbet under those pleading eyes, lest he make an enemy he really doesn’t want to have. He was conveniently not there. He has never seen this man in his life. He’d been suddenly struck blind by a phantom dizzy spell for the convenient duration of the whole interaction.</p><p> </p><p>(He accidentally slurred the story to Holst three moons later, warning bells silent while under the influence of whatever it was that his pal had manage to smuggle into his room, and he lived in fear ever since.)</p><p> </p><p>Point is, Christophe got his wish. He went back to the only intact table in the room. From somewhere inside the islands of shredded paper, he pulled out a fairly intact candle. He dragged a chair towards the center of the classroom, picking up his fallen tome along the way as an afterthought. The candle was placed on the chair in the classic setup of basic magical training, and he went back a couple of steps to sort through the heavy magic book, muttering to himself all the way.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus jumped when a hand grabbed his elbow and tugged him back forcefully. He raised a surprised eyebrow at Glenn, who pursed his lips and motioned for him to wait. Balthus shrugged and then proceeded to almost throw himself flat on the ground when a legitimate explosion went off. It was so sudden and jarringly bright that he had to blink back stinging tears.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” Christophe’s voice sounded extremely forlorn. When Balthus regained his sight once more, he found that, while the candle was lit with a steady orange flame, so was the entirety of the chair. And the graveyard of tables surrounding it.</p><p> </p><p>That did explain the sooty burn marks on the majority of the surrounding surfaces.</p><p> </p><p>Glenn didn’t even look surprised. He cast a low-level, <em>I am disappointed in you</em> glare towards his classmate, like he was a tutor with a particularly unruly pupil. Christophe shrunk back and immediately handed the magic tome over, which Glenn used to cast Blizzard on the burning furniture.</p><p> </p><p>The subsequent plume of black smoke sent them into a coughing fit and promptly demonstrated that none of the people present had any aptitude with magic whatsoever. At least their eyebrows didn’t singe off.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>After Balthus had dropped off the stray nuisances with their mother (Glenn said hadn’t wanted to risk whatever divine favor they had going on until that moment by doing so on his own, but Balthus suspected that he was just embarrassed by his underwhelming ice spell), he quietly closed the door to Holst’s room and came face to face with the man himself. He practically oozed smugness, and that was enough to clue him in as to how the meeting had gone.</p><p> </p><p>“It went marvelous, if I do say so myself,” Holst decided upon as he walked with him the maybe ten steps it took to get to Balthus’ room. “They did seem giddy, which is concerning, but we can think about that later. I’ll have to rethink our strategy to incorporate the whole house, but it’s nothing a good all-nighter won’t fix. How’d it go with the cats?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll have to be grateful that Glenn is excellent cat bait.”</p><p> </p><p>Holst grinned. “See? I knew you could do it. I really owe you one for – oh, is something wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>He would have liked to say that there wasn’t anything wrong and that he could finally take a well-deserved nap. Some higher power decided, however, to strike one last parting shot as some sort of morbid gift in the shape of his partially opened door. A partially opened door that he was sure had been locked until just before his cat-hunting skills were put to test. A partially opened door that made way obligingly for him in a way that seemed suspiciously innocent.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus glanced forlornly at his drawer. The wooden piece of furniture stood innocuously on a corner, accumulating dust as a drawer ought to do. It was, all in all, exactly as Balthus had left it in the morning. He did not trust it in the slightest.</p><p> </p><p>With a reluctant drag to his steps, he marched up to the corner in a daze. He lingered on the knob, fingers ghosting over the curve like he was trying to pet a dog that had a special distaste towards being petted and might just bite off some fingers to express said distaste. He had to get it over with eventually but damn did he not want to.</p><p> </p><p>“Baltie, what are you even waiting for?” Holst asked bemusedly from his safe spot near the door, likely expecting something to spring out of a corner were he to step one foot inside.</p><p> </p><p>Balthus didn’t deign that with an answer. He yanked open the drawer and peered inside with all the enthusiasm reserved for choir practice on the weekends.</p><p> </p><p>Sure enough, all his left socks were gone. Figures.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That took a while, huh? </p><p>Good new is, I have the last chapter mostly complete. Bad news is, it seems like I'll have to add more chapters that are yet to be written. How I wish my muse could cooperate with me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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